


The Butterfly Effect (The Undertale Collection)

by WhiskerFrisker



Category: Undertale
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bittybones, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - Underswap, And Then It's cool, And then it's painful, Angst, Anxiety, Asshole parent, Asshole parent(s), BittyBones, Bloody skinned feet, Character Death, Confusion, Dead parent(s), Death, Deeeeeeeath..., Depressing, Depression, Disability, Edgy Sans, Friendship is Harsh, Friendship is Magic, Geeze what a dick Edgy, Implied Death, Implied vomiting, Injury, LEVELS of level, Legit that's what I'mah go with, Loss of loved one, Loving Parent(s), Major character death - Freeform, Maybe - Freeform, Nightmare Sans - Freeform, PTSD, Pain, Panic Attack, Resets are dreams but sans can kind of tell, Sans Being An Asshole, Sans Being Cautious, Sans Being Kind, Sans Being Sans, Sans Remembers Resets, So many panic attacks, Talked down from a panic attack, There are levels people, Trashed house, Trashed memorabilia, Trauma, Traversing Alternate Universes, Traversing Alternate Universes through Dreams, Try to keep your head on your shoulders, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underfell characters - Freeform, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Underswap characters - Freeform, Violence, Whoa oc, Whoa reader, anxiety attack, dream sans - Freeform, edgy bitty - Freeform, emotional break down, in case it wasn't obvious, ink sans - Freeform, just kidding, mental break down, people die, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskerFrisker/pseuds/WhiskerFrisker
Summary: A collection of stories depicting different points in different times and people's lives. Some of these stories are related. Some of them are not. It's up to you to figure it all out.Here's some clues:People are often stuck in situations that they don't want to be in. That's life, and it's best those people get over it. The sooner, the better.Some people think their situation is a lot worse than it is. They just can't seem to look at the other side and see the truth.Fear is something that can drive a person to the ends of the Earth. It can also awaken a courage belonging to the brave and the foolish.Some people think their lives are perfect. Until the moment they realize that it definitely isn't. Of those people, some will find the fix and others will not. Those who do not are likely to fall very far.Some say reality is what you make it. They don't often say reality is what makes you. A change in perspective can show a person just how naïve they really are, and that goes for both parties.(Basically a bunch of stories with my real life logic applied. Because I like things that make sense.)





	1. What Is This?

**Author's Note:**

> Suuup, there's a lot of different things in this multi-part chapter collection... thing. It's mainly just that, a collection. However, it's not hard to blur the line between each chapter and find a story that involves multiple timelines with different circumstances. It's up to you, the reader, to decide what you believe is the reality of it all. So, good luck and have fun!
> 
> Also, it would mean a lot to me if you'd kindly give a review of my writing so that I may have constructive criticism to use as a step in the "write" direction. ;D 
> 
> [I love that I can use puns in this community and most people totally think they're funny. Thanks Sans, I feel more free with my pun abilities now.]
> 
> Some of these are emotional venting fics, made to use my emotions in a constructive way. I personally love experiencing emotions that are explained in written works, so I hope some of y'all do too.

The following chapters after this one will be different pieces of works written by myself. They are each initially written separately, but it's not hard to make connections between them. Sometimes, the same story is told in a different way. Sometimes, a different universe sees the same characters experiencing different circumstances. Sometimes, a simple moment occurs in which one different choice changes the course of an entire story.

Such is the butterfly effect.

These stories appear separate, and some of them are. However, it's up to the perception of whoever reads this to figure out what connects and what is simply an illusion of similarities. One can easily have the wool pulled over their eyes, so it's best to question the questions directed at the probable question of each situation. There really isn't a true and certain answer until the truth itself is revealed. One can only wait and see which possibility has come to fruition.

Good luck with keeping your brain from melting.


	2. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find yourself in a strange place. It's cold, silent, and empty. It drives you nuts, and you think you lose a bit of your sanity. You feel very, very alone. Or at least you did for a while... 
> 
> You regret wanting for a companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a panic attack, and some other stuff I think... It's been a while since I wrote this, heh. I guess a mental break down? Mostly anxiety triggers, so beware! Boo, or whatever...

Stumbling out of the labyrinth, the world feels distant and off balance. You can't catch a breath; it feels like you're dying. You're clutching your chest, when did you do that? You try looking up to see where you're going, but everything's swaying and out of focus; did you enter a tunnel, or is the darkness closing in? You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe, but you can't; it feels funny... You open your eyes- too fucking bright. You blink a few times. There's a path, blindingly white, cutting through a staggering darkness. Your shaky disoriented legs wobble and threaten to give out when placed upon the ground. There's a ringing in your ears, where is it coming from? You grit your teeth to fight the pain. Pain. Where? Everything is pain. The ground sways underneath you. Why? You look up to squint at the path. Everything blurs together, and the monochrome colors keep swaying. Are those trees, or pillars? Your surroundings don't make sense. Why are your feet cold?

Your eyes flutter about in a daze, trying to grasp a focus point that isn't blurred and distorted. Suddenly, a splotch of blue appears in the distance. You blink a few times, trying to clear your eyes. It's closer than you thought. It urges you onward as an anchor in the dark, a point of reference to be guided by. You focus on moving towards it, unsure if your body is cooperating. You can't feel yourself; you aren't even sure if you're breathing. You want to reach out to it, but are your arms moving? The darkness is pulling you back, narrowing your sight until all you see is blue. Or maybe you've reached your destination. The world starts tipping to the left, but then you're jerked to the right and now everything is spinning and you're floating and falling at the same time and there's nothing left but the void pulling you back and you can't breath you can't see oh God you can't feel- dead dead dead you must be dead - you're cold it's so cold and empty you're dead oh God you're-

The world jerks to the left with a sharp stinging sensation you vaguely register on your face, and for a moment you're left in a state of distant confusion. Then everything crashes down upon you in a wave of sensation. Your skin is on fire, your lungs are burning and feel constricted, your throat feels like you've swallowed sand, and your head feels like it's been cracked open. You try to take a breath, but pain floods your mind the moment you do and-!

“KID!” a voice breaks through and startles a gasp from you, and then your throat and lungs burst with more pain and- “Open your eyes kid!” What? “Your eyes, kid! Open 'em!” Everything seems to pause. Eyes. Yes, you have those. You focus through the pain and become aware of the fact that your eyes are indeed shut. You try to open them, and at first your eyelids feel like they're glued shut, but with a sudden motion they're open and you're blinded by white - too much white! - and immediately after you shut them tightly. You feel yourself drifting again, and you can't breathe right- “Kid, open your eyes and look at me.” Vaguely, you register an off tone in the voice, but you can't figure out what it is. Instead, you try again to focus on opening your eyes, slowly this time. You see two white pinprick lights, each hovering in dark holes set against white. 

Your insides are burning still, you remember, but before your mind fades the voice speaks “Listen,” you startle when the white lights briefly dart to the lower right of the black holes, “and follow my breathing.” Your throat burns, but then you distantly register something hard and cold coil around your right wrist, and then you feel your palm touch something hard and cloth... it moves, out... and in, out… and in… “breathe with me…” and you try. In- it burns-! “breathe…” You can't- “Breathe,” and you hear a quiet wind whistle through small gaps as you feel the hard cloth move out towards you. Your body shudders with a painful gasp as you breathe in- God it hurts- “good, now exhale.” A quivering breath outward, and you start coughing because it still hurts- “breathe in with me…” Your breath hitches repeatedly, but you manage to fill your lungs. “good,” you feel and hear him breathe out, so you do the same. 

“open your eyes,” and you do once again, now staring at the white lights in the dark holes, and you focus on them. Another shaky breath in, and another back out… A hiccup catches you off-guard, and suddenly you feel something cold roll down your cheeks, but you do your best to keep breathing with your guide. “breathe in… and out…” and you do… but after a few more breaths, you start hiccuping uncontrollably and start shaking- were you already on the ground?

Your right hand tightly grasps the cloth it lays upon and the cloth gives way slightly from whatever it was laying on. You try to keep breathing, but it picks up speed and you can't take a full breath again- something hard covers you fisted hand, “breathe with me,” you feel your hand and the hard thing rise again, “focus on my breathing,” so you push through the tears and panic and breathe deeply. “breathe out,” you do, anchoring yourself with the feel of the cloth grasped in your hand and the fall of what you now assume to be a strangely hard chest. Your throat is strained and you breath comes out with quiet high pitched sounds, but you keep breathing with your guide. 

“look at me,” and you open your eyes for the third time and again see the white pinpricks in the dark holes. You shut your eyes momentarily because don't know what you're looking at and it confuses you. Instead you pull on the cloth - which you assumed to be a shirt - and pitch forward to lay your head on the hard chest- but your forehead hits something like a hard ridge and it only confuses you more before you realize it moves your head at the same rhythm as your hand. Through the tears your eyebrows furrow and you lift your head slightly to see what you lay your head on.

You suck up your blubbering a little and see just below your head is something white peeking out from under a white shirt. You can't process what you're seeing, but you realize you're looking at the neck of the shirt… which opens up to mostly darkness. You can also see some white ridges trailing down inside the shirt and something white going up the back… but no skin, no muscles, not even-

You gasp and your eyes bulge as you realize what you’re looking at and jerk back to see- you gasp again but it doesn't feel like air, instead your lungs fill with cotton and you try to breath harder to get a proper intake of oxygen but you can't! You were leaning against a skeleton! You squeeze your eyes shut to block out the thing and clear your mind, hoping you must be having a fever dream or hallucination. You try to breath deeper and clutch your shirt, doing your best to remember the voice’s instructions to breath in deeply, and breathe out slowly…

After what seems like an eternity of breathing in chilled air, you feel calm enough to open your eyes and face reality. The skeleton is gone, and you find yourself sitting alone in the cold snow with towering dead-looking trees on either side of you. Wiping your tears from your face as you sniffle, you look around in a mild daze, searching for any humanoid form - skeleton or not - but find you are indeed utterly alone… You suddenly remember the voice and your mind begins whirring with questions. Where did the voice come from? Is the person nearby, watching? Did it have anything to do with the skeleton? Was the skeleton a hallucination? But… it felt… so real…

Upon noticing your breathing pick up again, you shut down that train of thought and focus again on staying calm. After a few calming breaths, you notice how frigid the air is and your skin feels like pins and needles. You place your hands in the shockingly cold snow and push yourself to a stand. The chilled air hits your previously snow-covered legs and behind and freezes the melted snow on your clothes. You cringe at the cold as your body starts quivering rather violently. You try to rub your shaking hands against your arms for a little warmth, but it does little to nothing. A soft whimper escapes your mouth as a particularly painful shudder wracks your body. You decide that moving would be a good idea and begin by taking a shaky step in the direction that the snowy path follows. You try not to think about the towering dead trees flanking your left and right. You push away any thoughts that stray back to where you'd come from. You try to ignore the unsettling silence that lays heavy over the area. You watch your feet as they move back and forth in a shaky and slow stride, listening to the crunch of snow with each step. You glance up occasionally to ensure you're still following the path. You think of the idea that there might be a cabin up ahead with a warm fireplace to cozy up next to. Maybe there's wool blankets stashed around and some hot chocolate packages stuffed in one of the cupboards.

You find your mind's self curled up beside the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate when your foot slips into a black hole. Instinct has you vaulting backwards and your back hits the snowy ground in safety. You scurry a few feet away from the pit, your breathing loud and fast in your ears as you stare in horror at your would-be doom. You curse quietly in a scratchy voice and shut your eyes to focus on calming your ragged breathing once again. When you  feel you've calmed down enough, you open your eyes to inspect the strange hole. You spot a wooden bridge just to the side of where your plummet almost took place. Halfway across the bridge are four wood pillars upholding a plank of wood. Two pillars are positioned on the bridge, and two on the edges of the hole. You notice the wood seems old and the bridge looks as if it hasn't seen maintenance in quite a while.

You wonder how far away from civilization this place is.

As the unsettling silence continues to bear down, you also wonder how far the closest living thing is from your position. As you continue to sit, the chill of the snow seeps into your bones, reminding you that you need to keep moving.

Just as you move to ready your ascent from the ground, a sudden crunch of snow behind you freezes your blood colder than the snow. You register it sounded like a few feet behind, and something within you screams danger. When another crunch sounds in closer proximity, fear suddenly pushes you into a mess of motion as you shove yourself off the ground and into a run towards the bridge. As you cross the wooden bridge, your feet briefly pound loudly against the wood, echoing through the hole below and out into the empty air, before you reach the other side and crunch loudly through the snow.

The cold air burns your lungs and strikes your face, bringing tears to your eyes as you sprint as fast as you can away from the potential threat. Your blood pounds in your ears, the noise only broken by your ragged breathing and your feet smashing against the snow. You don't hear anything else.

After a minute, you decide to dare a glance behind you. Initially all you see is the bridge, and a second, longer glance shows that all you've left behind is a trail of footsteps and the strange wooden bridge. You slow to a stop. Confusion takes your mind briefly before you glance around at the dead forest and, doing your best to stifle your breathing, you listen closely for anything that might signify a living thing.

A deeply rooted unease settles within you as you quietly stand there, neither hearing nor seeing anything in your surroundings that signifies life. You begin to wonder if you're going insane, and a desperation for opposing evidence begins clawing at your mind. You consider calling out, thinking maybe the thing is friendly, or at least means no harm. You also consider the idea that it's just biding its time until you make more noise so it can creep up on you. You think that it might not matter, because you'll probably end up dead from the cold anyway.

…

You can't help yourself.

…

You call out.

It echoes into the far distance.

…Nothing replies.

You call out again, louder this time.

…

The echo reaches farther.

You ask if anyone is there.

…

...But nothing answers.

You scream a demand for a response, cry out desperately for some kind of noise, and begin making unintelligible noises just to fill the deafening silence that swallows your voice.

…

...But nobody answered.

You drop the cold ground and start crying hysterically and uncontrollably as loneliness starts to suffocate your existence. You cry and scream as loud as you can, because the silence terrifies you now. You can hear your sounds echo back to you in the distance, giving some form of response to ground you in a strange way. You throw snow at the trees in anger and it makes noise, so you keep doing it until your arms get sore. You keep crying and screaming into the void until eventually your voice gives out. All you can do now is make soft sounds with your sore throat. Your ears start ringing from the quiet, so you pound the ground weakly and sniffle as loud as you can. You scream silently at the snow you're pounding into a pulp. Your head starts spinning as you breathlessly and quietly keep screaming at your mushed snowy indent in the ground.

The silence threatens your place in existence, bearing down on you with the cold as if to snuff you out. Your ragged breathing breaks your silent scream and you notice your tears have dried up. You feel exhausted and defeated by nothingness. You hold yourself up against the snow, but you can't really feel it. You notice your hands look bluish in the snow, and you vaguely wonder if frostbite is about to set in. Your mind feels too foggy to really understand what that means, so you shut your eyes tight and listen to your heavy breathing and occasional sniffle as the cold burns your lungs.

“hey.”

Your head is suddenly reeling with shock as you hear that one simple word spoken - or are you hallucinating from the cold? You find your eyes glued to your mashed snow indent, too afraid to see no one there and face the fact that you're hallucinating again; that you're still alone. Maybe the cold has finally gotten to your head. Maybe it's been in your head this whole time and you're currently lying face down in the snow as the snow takes your body. Maybe that's for the best… You hear your breathing pick up again as you realize you'd been holding your breath. Yes… just let the cold take you away… 

A soft whisper of sound pushes at your mind as you find yourself slowly letting your torso approach the snow. So easy to just…

Another sound, much closer. So close…

You gasp as something grasps your shoulder. Something hard and hand-shaded. You've jerked up to find nothing in front of you, and you begin hyperventilating because there's no one there. Why is there still no one- 

The hand pulls you backward, and you realize they're behind you. You want to look, God you do, but you're so terrified that it's all a lie. But you quickly find out that you don't have to decide, because they move around to stand before you. Feet. You see feet. No, not feet, slippers. Pink slippers. How the fuck are they not cold? You reach out to touch them, wondering if they're soft or really warm.

A white hand grasps your own, cementing your focus on that. It's pure white and hard, but the grip is light and almost seems careful. You feel tears run down your face despite your previous notion that you had run out. A choked sob escapes your throat as you stare at the hand. Is it real? You start crying uncontrollably again and you pull the hand close to your face, wanting to feel as much of it as possible. It touches your cheek, and you hold it there as you cry.

“uh, kid?” You hear the same voice from earlier, but at the moment you just want to feel their cold, hard, lifeless… boney… oh. Your crying quiets into shuddering breaths as your thoughts stall on the feel of the hand. Boney… cold… lifeless… skeleton. Your eyes shoot open and you almost look up, but you stop yourself, too afraid to find out what kind of hand you're holding. You see the boney hand pressed against your cheek in the corner of your eye, and it's stark white. 

Your body starts shaking for a completely different reason, but you try to rationalize the situation. Maybe it's weird gloves. It fails. You wonder if it's a dead skeleton, or maybe the person has a weird skin condition… or is it a living skeleton? Your mind whirls with mixed uncertain emotions. Your eyes move from the hand to begin trailing up a blue sleeve clad arm, and at first it seems normal… until you see the white shirt. Memory gauges that there are ribs just below that shirt.

Again you steady yourself with idea that there must be a rational explanation for this, and your eyes keep moving, slower this time. When you see the hole of the shirt neck give way to the same empty hole, everything seems to stop. You eyesight starts to shake, and you realize it's because you're shaking. You take a quivering breath and force your eyes to keep moving up. You see a white chin, but that's where an already broken logic breaks even more. The next thing you see is a Cheshire smile of white teeth indented in a smooth fuzed jaw which rounds upward and outward before rounding off at the top of an inhuman skull. You recognize the two dark holes with white pinpricks in each, and you horrifyingly dub them as sockets. You feel the chilled air caress the inside of your mouth and quickly realize it's because your jaw has dropped.

“heh, kid” you wonder where the voice is coming from “ you seem pretty spooked. relax, it's not like you've seen a ghost.” The Cheshire smile widens slightly - what the fuck is this thing - and there's a brief deafening silence before it falls a little, but it never disappears. You couldn't care less though. You're too busy trying to understand that a skeleton is standing before you and there's a disembodied voice that may or may not belong to said skeleton. You're frozen stiff trying to process the whole ordeal. “i guess seeing a skeleton is not much different.” It winks- it fucking WINKS- what the fuck IS this thing?!

You feel your mouth drop even more, almost as if you want to make some sort of noise, but you don't get the chance because you realize too late that you haven't been breathing and the darkness swallows your vision. You drop to the cold snowy ground with a thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have words for this chapter, don't hesitate to share them!!! I want, no, NEED to hear them. I'm hungry for feedback...  
> The -back monster needs feeding!
> 
> Pff, okay, g'night.


	3. Echoes Of A Time Long Passed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're freezing to death, you have no idea where you are or how you got here, and something is stalking you. Your odds of survival seem to diminish with each passing second, so you must press on, no matter how many times you black out.
> 
> You hope you can meet someone friendly before the cold takes you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A story in which reader once again finds themselves in the underground, but this time there's more mystery revolving around their appearance! What could it all mean???
> 
> Hopefully y'all will catch the little environmental hints I placed around. ;)
> 
> Have fun!

You've awoken to a snowy path surrounded by trees. You can't remember how you got here, and that scares you. Is this a kidnapping? Are you alone, or is there someone else here? Can you find someone to help you? You look to and fro for any sign of people, but you can't even find any footsteps. That's extremely unsettling, especially since you aren't covered in new snowfall. You look up and find darkness above, but when you look straight it's as if light is being cascaded upon the area. You're extremely disturbed by all of this. Nonetheless, you feel that at this point it'd be best if you could find someone to help you out.

With a moment longer spent in silent hesitation, you call out to the shadows of the forest. The trees whisper back with a sound so soft it might have well not been there at all. A lazy chilled breeze stings your cheeks following the sound. You stare into the trees, but nothing around the forest floor gives any sign of movement. You look up into the branches hanging over the walkway and see a cluster of them swaying ever so slightly before stilling completely. Odd, the air is completely still aside from that one little wind chill. You wonder where the breeze went.

The fact that nothing answered your call back might be a bad sign. The silence suddenly weighs upon you, and it starts to unnerve you, so you take a step to move on, but then freeze up when the crunch of snow sounds loudly in your ears. That was really loud. You hear your breath still from the sound. You wait for another sound. You wait for what seems like forever, and then you wait a little longer just to be sure. The silence wears on your mind, so you decide to keep moving.

Your feet crunch loudly in the snow as you move forward. Your breath billows out in front of you with each exhale, and the sound of your breathing fills your head between each step. It's cold, and the air chills your insides with each breath. You shiver, but keep pushing forward. The crunch of each step seems to echo against the trees behind you, so you try shuffling your feet more as a means of keeping quiet. It doesn't seem to help much, and this brings your attention to two thing. One, shuffling your feet through snow is still loud. Two, the echo of crunching is still present behind you. You almost stop to check if your suspicions are correct, but at the last second you think better of it; it seems to have dissipated anyway.

Perhaps you're just paranoid. It would make sense, considering your mind is trying to come up with some crazy theories about why this forest is so… dead silent. You do your best to keep moving forward at the same pace. You direct you head downward and hug yourself tighter for warmth. You want to appear tired and detached, while in reality your eyes are flicking to and fro in an attempt to find anything that seems sticks out.

After what seems like ten minutes, you see a bridge up ahead with some sort of gate half way across; or is it supposed to be bars? You forgo the shuffling in your haste to get to the bridge. You're not sure what the bridge is there for, but you hope it means you're closer to civilization.

You hear your steps echoing behind you as you make your way at a faster pace. The farther you go, the farther the echo seems to get, but at the same time the sound never seems any further away, almost like the echo is becoming disjointed. You don't want to think about that and instead will your chilled legs to move faster. You hear the echo detach entirely from your own pace. Your breathing picks up, but you try to play it off as a reaction to walking faster, almost as if you're out of breath.

You focus on the bridge, see it as a goal for you to work towards. But what happens once you get there? It's not like you'll pass into a safe area. As you think on this, you decide what you'll do once you get there. You'll run. You'll run as hard and as fast as you can for as long as you can on this snowy pass. You can't really hear anything behind you, but you don't trust that for a second.

As the bridge comes closer, your pulse starts to really pick up. No tripping or slipping up can occur. Once you reach that bridge, you'll be off like a gazelle. There's no going back, because whatever this thing is that's stalking you will know that you know it's there. Once that's given up, there's no going back. It's do or die time, probably literally.

The bridge is just a few paces away; you can see now that some of the wood is rotting. Your heart is pounding with anxiety. You stare at the wood with wide eyes as it comes within touching distance. For a moment, your heart seems to stop. In fact, everything seems to stall. It seems like slow motion as your foot closes in on the bridge. You're holding your breath as the moment of silence seems to stretch on.

Then, you feel the wood bends slightly underneath your weight as your foot hits the wood with a thump. The sound echoes through the trees and down below the bridge. With that sound, everything within you pushes you forward with a burst of energy, and your feet pound a few more times on the wood before they're making a slushy mess of the snowy path ahead.

You don't look back, you don't look side to side; your focus is only on the white path ahead of you and keeping your breathing under control as you catapult yourself forward. You don't watch the trees whizzing by, and you ignore the sting of the air as it whips against your cheeks. You grit your teeth in a snarl as you push forward and only ever think of running and breathing. It's all you can do to keep yourself safe. Just run, that's all your world revolves around right now. Run and don't look back. Run and keep breathing. Just focus on running. That's all you have to do.

You don't see the ice. You're too busy booking it to a place of unknown origin. Suddenly, your feet go flying up behind you and your face decides it wants to meet the ground. You don't like that idea, but there's no time to disagree on the matter. Everything suddenly dissipates just after a jarring sensation wracks your brain.

~~~

You awaken with a deep set chill clawing at your insides; you can't really feel your face. You open your eyes, but then realize only one eye is open. You look down to find yourself laying on a moderately sized patch of ice. You push your abdomen up on shaky arms and, after a quick check over yourself, you manage to painstakingly rise to your shaking legs. You look around and briefly spot a sign, but you become enraptured by the fact that you can only see with one eye.

Your hand instinctively begins the rise to your face, but you force it to pause. Do you really want to know what's wrong? Are you sure you want to feel it? Is it really important enough to find out? Should you leave it be in case it starts to hurt? You should probably not touch it, just in case. You can always find out later. You decide it's for the best to just deal with it and ignore it to your best abilities.

You look around again and see there are three paths leading from this patch of ice, as well as a sign in the middle of it all. You approach the sign with carefully slow steps. You inspect the sign. On it are faded letters, but the most you can make out are the words “ice,” “west,” and “Snowd..” with the last word seeming to be missing some letters.

You look over the sign and can barely make out a bank of a river. You don't want to fall in, so you decide not to go near it. You don't want to come back the way you came; you can't exactly remember why, but you think it's because there was someone over there. You decide the safest route is the mysterious path to the right of the sign.

You begin a limping trudge in your chosen direction, glancing around with one eye as you go. There's a rock in the middle of the path just up ahead, and you move to the side to make sure you won't trip on it. You think about running again, but you quickly decide it's best if you don't due to your condition.

The snow keeps catching on the tips of your shoes as you drag your feet, and you have to be careful not to fall again because of it. You breathe deeply to calm your nerves a little so you can focus on walking, but the silence wears on your mind.

You're going to freeze out here if you don't find shelter soon. You watch for a moment as your breath billows out in visible puffs, and it makes you feel even colder. Your one eye glance around every so often, searching for a path or clue leading towards some civilization or even a warm building.

After some time spent walking, you've managed to get yourself lost. You're sure of it, because this sign says Snowdin is back the way you came. You must have taken a wrong turn or something while your chilled brain had zoned out. Now you wonder if you'll even have enough time to get to Snowdin before you freeze to death, and that's a genuine issue you're face.

You look around a little more frantically, hoping to spot something of use. You see a ledge a few yards away, so you move to that in hopes of getting a bird's eye view of the place. When you reach the ledge, however, it becomes clear that you're not nearly as high as the rest of the area. You can even see a bridge up much higher than you are… or maybe that's stone? Either way, you'd bet that's the main road and probably leads to some town. The lowest point in your view seems like it's below you, and on closer inspection you find a little house near some trees down there as well.

You sigh and move to step back, but the ground suddenly lurches beneath the one foot that's holding your body weight up. Your heart leaps into your throat as you fall backward, and your breath is knocked out of you when your lower back hits the lip of the edge. You try to reach back blindly in vain, hoping by some miracle that you grab something, but all you feel is ledge slip past your fingers. You're free falling now. You open your eyes and look down to see the ground fast approaching. You barely have time to think about survival before you land in the heavy snow pile with a whump.

Everything is silent save for your wheezing breaths. You're too busy trying to catch your breath to even think about moving for the first minute you lay there. After your lungs settle enough, you're hit with the fact that you're still alive. You survived a fall that seemed to be at least two stories high. It must've been the snow pile you fell in. There's no way you'd land that unscathed otherwise. Speaking of… you start checking for injuries after laying there in shock for another minute.

Once everything seems to check out save for some scrapes and nasty bruises on your side, you decide to move. You stand slowly, hoping to use the adrenaline quickly before it runs out and you collapse. You need to get to someplace warm, and if memory serves you right, there's a cabin or house down here somewhere. You look around, and it doesn't take long to spot the thing protruding above the snow. As you begin walking towards it, you can't help but pray that the place has a fireplace. There's no way it wouldn't have a fireplace in this kind of weather, unless it's primarily electric heat. You hope to God it has a fireplace…

After walking of a few minutes, you notice that your stride has slowed down considerably. You fear it's because the exhaustion is catching up with you, so you start to push yourself forward with more urgency. You can't pass out in the snow; that's game over. Your breathing picks up painfully as you start stumbling as fast as you can towards the little cabin out in the middle of nowhere. You don't care about anything else at this point, because death is inevitable if you don't reach that cabin. The cold rips through your throat as you gasp with the effort of moving. You could drop to the snow here and now, and sleep would take you so easily, but you can't. You just can't. You have to reach that cabin. You have to keep going. You can't give up, not when survival is so close. Just a few more yards.

Through your blurry sight, you find your hand grasped tightly around a metal door knob attached to a dark slab of wood. You must have zoned out or something, because you suddenly appeared here with a blink. Your sluggish mind can't grasp a proper reason for this, so you focus on what you have in your hand. You're here. You're saved. You can finally curl up in some warm blankets by a fire and… and the knob isn't turning. You can't really feel your hand or the door knob, but you can definitely see your hand straining to turn the knob. Maybe it's frozen shut, and you just have to shove it a few times to dislodge it.

You shove your shoulder at the door, but it hardly hits it with any force. You're so out of it that you can barely coordinate your body to move in one direction. You start slamming your hand against the door while twisting the knob. Your hand starts to sting with the force of hitting the door, but you prefer that to feeling nothing at this point; it means you're still alive.

Suddenly, the door caves inward and you topple forward. Your face hits the floor with a bang, and that's when everything goes dark again.

~~~

You come to again, and this time you feel like a space heater. Your eyes open to see a wood ceiling tinted by an orange glow. You stare at the color in confusion. You remember the cabin very vaguely. You must've made it here. You raise your head off the comfy floor and find you're swathed in blankets with a blazing fireplace to your left. You must've been really out of it to not remember doing all this, but how could someone as uncoordinated as you manage to pull all this off?

“Erm…”

You nearly leap out of your socks when the sound of someone else reaches your ears. Your head whips to the right, and there you see a cloaked figure sitting in a chair at the edges of the light. Something glints from under the hood, so you strain your eyes to see what it is. Through the shadows you find something else that catches your attention. What looks like a black beak is jutting out from under the hood. The beak is pointed downwards in your direction. It reminds you of a plague doctor from the times during the black plague. This makes you fear that you've caught some sort of sickness. Nonetheless, you're happy to have found someone else down here. You were starting to think this place had been abandoned. It makes you wonder why this person stayed behind.

“So…” Maybe they're a murderer. “I see you've finally woken up.” The voice sounds feminine, but you know it can be deceiving. They're silent for a moment before continuing. “Um… I don't know if you're familiar with monsters or not…” what does that mean? IS she a murderer?! “But, um, if you're not, then, um… just don't freak out… okay?” Freak out? Well it's kind of too late for that now isn't it? This talk of monsters has you on edge now. She grabs the sides of her hood, and you tense. “P-please… just keep calm. I… I won't hurt you, I promise.” She takes a breath, and then the hood is pulled back to reveal…

A furry.

You almost laugh, but then you don't, because the ears twitched, and the pupils dilated suddenly, and the that beak is moving so well. This person must be an incredible costume artist. You're currently looking at a black furry and feathered face. Their mouth has a long thick beak attached to it, and some cat looking ears are protruding from the top of their head. Their eyes glint uncannily in the soft light of the fire, and they seem to be avoiding your studying gaze. They must be scared of feedback.

“That looks amazing,” you say suddenly.

Their eyes snap to yours in surprise, and then it seems like their confused. Wow, they can even express emotions with all that stuff on their face. “Uh… um, what…?”

You point uselessly at all of her. “ Your costume. It's pretty amazing. It's kind of pretty, actually.”

You guess they're very flustered by the way their eyes widen and suddenly look away. “Oh, u-um… I, I don't think I follow…”

“The bird and cat furry look you got going on. It's freakin’ awesome.” it seems like a strange cross between realization and something else crosses their face when you say that, so you continue. “The way the feathers or fur or whatever look so natural, and the ears actually MOVE! How'd you do that?”

She suddenly jumps up as she says, “I-it’s not a costume!” And the she goes silent, almost looking regretful.

You're confused by her words. “What do you mean? Like… do you call it something else? Like role play outfit or something?”

She seems uncomfortable, and your eyes zone in on her freakish hands fiddling in front of her. They look like crow's feet, and damn are those some long claws at the end. “N-no… no, it's not like… t-that. It's not… any of that…” She turns away slightly, seeming almost sad at this point. “I'm… I'm not… in a costume.” She cringes at her words.

“Not a costume…?” What else would it be then? It's not like it's real or anything. Unless… maybe it's a skin condition? Or perhaps she's a victim of a science experiment like some kind of sci-fi movie. It makes you feel bad for her. “Oh…” is all you say though, because what can you say? You're still trying to grasp the idea that a human is part bird and cat.

“Y-yeah… sorry.”

You look at her funny. “For what?”

“For… I dunno, f-for being weird? About… this?” she says as she motions at herself. “I thought you'd freak out… about me being a monster… an’ all…”

You give her a friendly exasperated look. “Pff, you, a monster? Nah. It doesn't matter what you look like,” you wave your hand dismissively, “as long as you're still human on the inside.” You look at her with a friendly look, but it falls away when you see the hollow look she's giving you.

“I…” it sounds like she can't breathe right, “I don't t-think… y-you understand what I… what I am…”

You try to brush it off. “ Sure I do. You're some human that got caught up in a freak accident with-”

“No, you don't!” She bursts out, shocking both you and her. She covers her beak and looks away. “I… I was born a monster. I… I AM, a monster. A… a different species… th-than you… than humans…” She goes silent once more, looking stiff.

You're trying to process that. She's a monster. She was born a monster. She's not… human? Wait, does she consider herself not human because of her looks? You'll put a stop to that. “I… it doesn't matter what you look like. You're still… you're still a person-”

“I'm not. Human.” Her eyes are boring into yours, and you suddenly see something more feral in them. It has your hair standing on end. Maybe it's anger, and not animalistic. Nevertheless, you stay quiet, and she turns to you with a more relaxed look. “I'm a being m-made mostly of… of magic. I'm not… I'm not as physical as a human. It's… my soul… projecting a physical i-image. I'm magic… and soul energy… made into ph-physical matter. I'm not… like you.” She gives you sad look, and then turns and walks down a dark hall to somewhere else in the cabin.

You're absolutely stunned. Holy shit, it's a being made of magic. Either she's absolutely crazy, or you're about to be. Holy shit, magic. And souls. She's fucking magic. You drop back to the comfy floor, which you realize is actually some kind of padding. Holy shit, you just met, and talked, with a magical being. Wow… this must be a dream. You should fall asleep and wake up alone in this cabin. Or maybe you're frozen outside the door of the cabin. Or… you were never here to begin with.

…

Sleep sounds nice. You fall asleep quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The monster OC is mine! Here's a link to her reference: ["Craw" Monster OC Reference](http://aminoapps.com/p/pofjtb)  
> The switch between they and she was kinda lazily on purpose.


	4. Circumstances Lead To Happenstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You almost get caught up in something that has you calling the cops. A nice man gives you coffee, and you get driven home. You get chewed out and snuggled by your mom and siblings. Then a week goes by and you meet the grim reaper. It's so exciting, you might just die by a spontaneous heart attack. Of course, there's no way the skeleton had anything to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... There's lots of talking in the first half, and it might be considered boring, so I added some Sans at the end because he's hella comic sans relief. *Finger guns* Plus, the Sans bit kinda gives this story some line up with another story... timeline... THING. anyway...  
> Hope y'all enjoy!

You're walking home from work. The last rays of sunshine are beating down on your pale skin, and you grimace slightly at the thought of the inevitable sunburn that will appear on your face later. You sigh sharply and wipe the accumulated sweat off your brow. You puff a few more times and mark this as another moment in which you regret not visiting the gym. Today was tiring, and the sun only makes it worse. You weren't expecting bright sunshine when you left your work office today, and thus didn't bring a hat. You should've known better though, considering you’ve lived in the South for quite a long time. 

Speaking of living places, you remember that you need to look into some more possible housing options. Your family can't survive much longer in the place you all currently live. You let out a few nervous breaths at the idea of finding nothing again. You were stressed enough before this came up, and with finals approaching fast, you fear you'll break apart with all this sudden looming, impending doom. You shake your head to clear your mind and focus on walking.

The sun has set by now, which means you need to be more aware of your surroundings. The last thing your family needs is to spend energy worrying about you going missing. So you briskly walk along the broken up sidewalk; someone needs to fix that. You glance around while watching your step, doing your best to keep your head still and down slightly so as not to catch anyone's eye. The city can be a cut-throat place, especially after dark, and you want nothing to do with that. You pass an alleyway between a bar and a pastry shop. You’re not sure what the names of each place are because it’s not your focus point, but the atmosphere behind each window tells you enough. You’re not inclined to find out the names of those places once your eyes flick passed the alley and do a double-take. In the shadows you can make out two figures tussling and, if you strain your ears, you can make out grunts and what sounds like breathless resistance. 

Two possibilities cross your mind in a split second; one is a possible mugging, and the second is… well, you really don’t want that to be a thing. After this crosses your mind, you stop behind the corner of the bakery and pull your phone out to dial 911, all the while listening for any more sounds that could clue you into what’s happening. You clutch your phone in a death grip with your back pressed against the brick building, and you unlock your phone. You’re breathing too heavy, so you try to calm down as you pull up the dialer. Your ears are straining for a sound as you poke each number with shaking hands. You realize you can’t hear anything from the alley and freeze up. You realize your hand has paused over the call button so you quickly press it and put the phone to your ear. As the the dial tone sounds, you poke half your head around the corner to check the alley. 

You feel every hair on your body jolt up upon spotting a figure standing a few steps away, facing you. You hold back a scream, and then you realize he’s not looking at you, so you re-evaluate what you’re seeing. He’s… dragging something.

“911 what’s your emergency?” The guy drops what he’s dragging and starts to turn. You cover your mouth quickly as you whip back around. What do you do? Do you act natural? Did he actually hear that? Oh God, did he hear what she said? No, no way. Just act natural. Stand by the bakery doors… or the bar because people are there… Oh, but then you have to cross the sight of the alley. Hurry, do something!

“Hey Stacy it’s-” you think of an alias “Annie from the bakery down the street at-” you check the street sign which is thankfully illuminated “the 16th street and parkway avenue crossway.” Yes, this will work fine… Now what? “I came by just to check in if your order was ready, but the doors are locked and the… yeah.” You almost said alleyway, you almost said it! Speaking of, you shuffle away from said alley, and in turn grabbing distance, to stand by the locked doors.

“Ma’am, are you in distress?”

“Yeah, I am.” This can work for a clue. “I was thinking about going through the back alleyway-” you stress that word a little, “to check on someone who might be working after hours, but I wanted to check with you first on what to do.”

“Is there someone there that’s preventing you from speaking?”

Thank God! “Yes, yes… I just wanted to make sure if everything was okay.” 

“Are you saying there’s someone in an alley next to the bakery?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” sounds suspicious, “but I didn’t know what to do about that.” Good enough. You take a glance at the alleyway, but no one seems to be around.

“Okay, I’m sending someone out to take a look. And you’re at the bakery beside 16th Street and Parkway Avenue? Is there a way you can tell me which one?”

“Yes, the bar next door has a lot of people there right now… and it seems like they got their delivery on time, but our store doesn’t? It’s weird.” It’s so quiet back there… 

“Okay, I have the location. Is the alleyway between the bar and the bakery?”

“Yes, yes that’s right. I’m just standing out here and no one seems to be around,” oh crap too suspicious, “I mean the bakery is so empty right now,” bad words! No more!

“Ma’am are you alone?”

“Yes,” your brain is scrambling itself and you can’t think straight now. Where is that guy? Is he still in the alley? How much longer until the cops get there?

“Where are you located on the street right now?”

“I’m… I’m just outside the bakery.” You can’t think straight anymore. “Didn’t I… say that before?” Your voice is shaking damnit, but you can’t get yourself to move away; you’re too scared.

“Can you get to a more populated area to wait for the police?”

The bar is populated, but… how do you say you don’t want to walk in front of the alley without saying exactly that? “I… I didn’t want to bother the bartender about it. It’s just so hard to get through the patrons now anyway.” You grip the phone tighter so you won’t drop it from your shaking hands.

“Is there another place across the street or around the corner you can go to?”

Oh God, you’re shaking so bad. “I’m not sure… I’ll go check if there’s anyone open who can let me know.” Your voice is quivering, it’s too quiet in the alley, and the noise from the bar isn’t helping. You don’t want to turn your back on that alley. You want to keep it in your peripherals. Your breathing is shaky. You glance to your right and then across the street to look for any lights on in the buildings. You see a few, but you try to think which way would be safest. “I… I think a store across the street is open.” You think it’s some kind of café.

“Okay sweetie, I need you to cross the street and look both ways before doing so. Try not to panic alright? Just take a breath and walk while you stay on the line with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Your voice is almost a whisper now, but you add in for good measure, “I’ll go check.”

You push off the front window of the bakery and move to the edge of the sidewalk, before hesitating. The first step makes your skin freeze over and your hair stand on end, and you move your eyes to check if you can see the alley; you can’t. You take a frazzled breath and, with an energized push, you leave the sidewalk and begin your fast paced travel across the street. You quickly look both ways to check for any cars as a last minute thought.

You’re halfway across the street and are about to let the operator know you’re still there, when you hear a shout behind you, “Hey girly! Wanna have a drink with me?!” It sounds like it’s directed at you, but you ignore it and walk faster.

“I’m almost there,” you tell the operator. “Some guys are yelling-”

“Y’ think yer too good fer me bitch?!”

“-at me from the bar I think.” You can hear your nerves in your voice when you speak again. “They might follow me.”

The operator responds quickly, “If you have a way to defend yourself then have that ready. Run the rest of the way.”

You don’t think twice as you pull out your forgotten pepper spray and book it to the doors of the café. When you get there and pull the door open, you look back to see that the drunkard who’d supposedly been yelling at you has stumbled off the sidewalk and just face-planted into the road. However, when your eyes move to the alley way you feel your breath catch in your throat. Someone is standing at the mouth of it, and they’re looking directly at you. How do you know that? Well, the two glowing dots on the shadowed face might be a clue. However, as you blink to clear your eyes, the person disappears. You’re left to wonder what in the hell just happened.

“...there ma’am? Ma’am, please respond so I know-”

“Yes, sorry,” you shake your head and take a breath before looking back at an empty alleyway. “I just…” your voice hitches, you take a shaky breath, and then suddenly you’re crying. Through your blubbering you manage to stutter out, “I’m okay, I'm okay…” 

“Are you in the building?”

“Yes,” you say with a gasp. Snot starts dribbling from your nose and you wipe it with your sleeve. “I just… I saw… something.”

“The police are almost there sweetie. Can you-” Then a hand drops onto your shoulder and you screech with a jump. A shaky voice startles with you from behind, and you whip around to see who it is.

An older man with gray short hair and a well combed mustache owns the voice, and he speaks, “Sorry missy, I didn’t think you were so wound up.” You're gasping with each stifled cry as you stare at him while realization slowly dawns on you. He’s not a threat. “Mind if I help you to a seat over there?” and he points to a booth near the back of the café. You nod absently, though you can’t really process what you’re agreeing to because you’re too busy processing your situation. Are you going to be stalked? Did they see your face? The man places a hand on your upper arm which grounds you, and then he gently guides you with him as you both walk to a booth in the back.

“Ma’am are you alright? I need to know if you’re alright. Can you say something?” you hear your phone say. 

You move your phone back to your ear to speak. “Y-yeah, I am. Sorry,” you mutter out. You sniffle and feel yourself starting to calm down a little with the stability of the older man guiding you to sit at the booth. You take a shuddering breath and speak again, “Just got startled by staff,” you laugh humorlessly.

The old man, which you now notice has an apron on with cursive letters that say “Malary’s Place,” speaks up again, “Sorry about that lil’ missy. Didn’t realize you were that high strung.” He pats you softly on the shoulder.

“S’okay,” you reply quietly. 

The operator speaks again, “Ma’am are you in a safe place now?”

Through your sniffling you reply, “I-I think so…”

“Do you want me to stay on the line with you?”

“Y-yes please,” you mutter. A soft pat on your back makes you jump a little, but upon looking up you see the old man’s soft expression, and it calms you down a little. You watch him walk off to the back room as the operator speaks again.

“Alright then, the police will be there in less than a minute, so stay there until they arrive. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, followed by a sniffle. You hear distant sirens.

“Do you know the name of building you're in?”

“Y-yeah, it's Malary's Place.” You sniffle as your lip starts quivering.

“Can you tell me what day it is today?”

You frown, but try to suck up your blubbering to respond, “I-it’s Monday, the 17th… of June.”

“Alright then, can you tell me your name?”

“Um,” you ponder the reasoning for these questions, “it’s Andrea. Andrea Tetter…”

“Alright then, and are you staying with someone where you live?”

You take an unnecessary moment to think on this before replying, “Yeah, my family and I live together… It’s, um, my siblings and I with my mom.”

“Okay, and what are their names?”

“Um, there's my mom, and her name is Diana. My bro is Erin, and my sister is Rachelle.” The police sirens sound rather close now, and it gives you some comfort.  
“Alright ma'am, that's nice. The police are almost there. They're going to ask you some questions when they get there. Are you alright to hang up and wait for them?”

You think for a moment. You're in a safe place, and the police are practically around the corner. You nod, and then speak, “Y-yeah… I think I'll be okay. Thank you.”

“Alright, that's good to hear. Make sure and tell them everything you can.” You nod absently. “I'm gonna hang up now, okay?”

“Okay…”

“Alright then, stay where you are for now. Good bye.” And then there's the dial tone.

Your hand slides down with the phone and drops to the table in front of you. You're in shock, you realize. You stare at the table before you, replaying the terrifying moments through your head over and over. You wonder what you could have done differently. Maybe if you'd gotten a better look at the alley you'd have seen the face of the person. What were they even doing? And what was up with those eyes?! No, there's no was you saw that. That had to have been a trick of the light. Yes, he was engulfed in shadows, but-

A small cup with a dark liquid is placed in the spot you've been staring at. You blink, and then follow the hand that retracts from the cup to see the old man standing beside your table. You look back at the cup, and then you're about to say something, but he cuts you off.

“It's on the house, sweetheart. Figured you'd need something to pick ya up.” He smiles, and his face scrunches up with the wrinkle lines made from smiling a lot.

You smile back and awkwardly thank him. You take a sip, and then do your best to hide the face you make. You appreciate the sentiment, even if it's a drink that you despise. Yes, coffee, and it's nearing bedtime. You doubt you'll sleep well.

The door to the café opens with a jingle. Did it jingle when you came in? You didn't even notice. Nonetheless, a mildly irrational fear of the man in the alley has you looking up to see who it is. There's a man in a police uniform is standing there, and your eyes meet. He walks over, asking if you're the one who called. You say yes, and then he tells you that he's checked out the alley and then says it was good that you called. He says he discovered traces of blood. And that's when your mind trails off.

What the fuck did you walk in on? What would've happened… if you hadn't been so cautious? Who the hell, no, what the hell was it?

You're broken from your thoughts by the policeman. You take a sip of coffee, because it helps take the edge off from your situation. He asks you some questions, and you tell him everything you can, even about the strange possible glowing eyes. You tell him it couldn't have been a reflection because he was in the shadows, but you figure it might have been something emitting light. He asks you more questions, and then wonders if you want to go to the station. 

You tell him no, you just want to go home. He offers to drive you home, and you take him up on said offer. You thank the kind old man behind the counter as you and policeman walk out. The old man waves back with a twinkle in his eye. 

~~~

The cop car slows to a stop in front of your apartment building. You look to the driver,the policeman, and smile as you thank him again for getting you home safely.

“It’s no problem. After something like that happens it wouldn’t have been right of me to let you walk home.”

“Still, thank you,” you say again.

The police officer lets out a soft laugh at that before responding, “You’re welcome. Now stay safe and go tell your folks you’re safe so they don’t have to worry none. I’ll watch your back until you get in the door, alright?” 

For some reason, you tear up at his words, but you laugh good-heartedly at his concern and assure him all will be well before thanking him once more. You turn to the door and grasp the handle with intent to leave, but you stop and take a moment to further collect yourself before doing so. Facing your family is going to be even more exhausting, so this moment will do you well in the following moments to come.

The door swings open when you push it, and the first step is a doozy across a puddle between the car and the sidewalk. Once you manage to get across without getting wet, you turn to the police officer with a smile, but find that he seems to be holding back laughter. Your face turns red as you realize that you must’ve looked ridiculous trying to avoid that puddle. You chuckle and rub your neck with embarrassment as you look away for a moment. 

“Thanks again,” you say.

“Like I said, no problem. It's my job.”

You smile again, and then you move to the front door of the apartment building. The door easily opens with a swipe of your card, so you turn back to the policeman and wave with a smile. He does the same, and then he drives off. You make your way to your apartment and open the door. Your family is somewhat worried, and then they freak out about your story. The night is spent with them fawning over you and berating you for not taking a safer route, followed by lots of expressive love from your mom who cries a few times.

Eventually, after everything is settled down and you've had dinner, you make it to your shared room with your sister. You two talk for a while, and then she's asleep. You find yourself awake for a long time, and it makes you grateful that tomorrow is Saturday.

~~~

A week has passed since the day you almost witnessed a murder. You're still shaken up, as is your mother, and you heed her insistence to use the bus from now on. Today is Saturday, and you're going to meet someone about a renting opportunity. His brother had answered the call apparently, and he seemed very enthusiastic and happy, if not… loud. Anyway, you spent some time just listening to him talk all about topic after topic that strayed from the initial reason you called. His brother was in the back, seemingly annoying the Great Papyrus with puns. You know this, because Papyrus would yell very loudly about it. However, Papyrus’ brother, who you figured out is named Sans, ended up keeping the phone call on track. In fact, Sans was the reason that Papyrus remembered to end the call at all. Papyrus had been so enthusiastic that he'd been sharing all sorts of information about him and his brother. It was honestly endearing, and you wonder how old the kid is.

What you gathered from the call was that their place was near your college, and Sans wanted to meet you somewhere before deciding on a day to showcase the living area. Apparently, he wants to discuss some things with you regarding the situation. Despite how nice Papyrus seemed, you were kind of hoping he wasn't coming because of how excitable he was. Getting distracted by everything is a problem you're working on, and you doubt the boisterous skeleton would do the issue any favors.

So here you stand, outside another café, trying not to think about last week as you focus on wondering who these people are. You wonder what they look like, because who on Earth would have names like “Sans” and “Papyrus?” Papyrus is a type of reed paper and the name of a font. Sans is, well, it's reminiscent of some types of fonts, and the word means “without” in French. Either their parents really hated their kids, they were too focused on making their kids sound unique, or it's something completely different that you can't think of. Parents… Some just don't understand how their choices affect their children. You're lucky to have the mom that you do. Your dad… is definitely a subject filled with contrast.

“Heya, are you the one asking about the rooming?” someone beside you asks. It surprises you, so you look around to see who is speaking. 

For a second, you don't see them. Then you look to your right, and then down, and find a short human skeleton standing. Right. There. Another second passes in which you have a heart attack, but then you calm down as you quickly realize that this is no normal skeleton. First off, he has a white little light in each eye socket, which makes your mind jump back to a week ago, but you brush it off. The second thing is that his skull isn't really anatomically correct in comparison to a human. So you figure this guy must be a monster. That's pretty cool.

You realize you're staring, so you attempt a recovery. “Er, yeah. Sorry I'm just ah… heh, sorry.” You scratch your neck nervously, and you can feel the shameful grimace on your face. Did you just blow your chances with this rooming deal? 

“Eh, it's no skin off my back.” He shrugs.

You blink twice, and then a twitch of a smile is on your face. “Heh, yeah.” Papyrus wasn't kidding about this guy.

“I wouldn't tell a fibula.”

“Pff, okay I know you're doing that on purpose. I heard Papyrus yelling at you on the phone about it.” You give him a knowing look.

“What’a ya mean? I'm just a bone-afied skeleton hoping to chat.”

“Pff! Oh Lord, you're silly.”

“Heh, good to hear. I'm Sans the skeleton.” Ah, so it is him. Good thing there wasn't an elaborate misunderstanding going on. He holds out his hand.

You snort. “I'm uh, Andrea. Please to mee’cha mister skeleton. Though uh, doesn't Sans the skeleton mean you'd be everything BUT a skeleton?” You're smirking at him as you start to grab his hand.

“Heh, ya got me. I'm a juxtaposition.”

“Jeez, big wor-” 

PPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFTHTHTHTHTHHHHH… 

It's dead silent for a second, mainly because you're shocked, and you cannot believe a skeleton farted. You know that wasn't you. There's no way he just-

He shows a rubber cylinder in his palm. “Whoopee cushion in the hand trick.” He winks. HOW?! “It's always funny.”

And it surely is, because you're busting out laughing from the absurdity of it all. He actually had you believing that a skeleton could fart! You're laughing so hard that you've started crying, and you have to steady yourself on the brick wall next to you. As you start to settle down and wipe your eyes, you notice Sans’ grin seems a bit larger, and you wonder if he found your laughing fit to be funny.

“Just call me Sans by the way. Mister skeleton is too formal for me.”

You chuckle a few more times before replying. “Can do bro. No skin off my back, seeing as I'm not currently bleeding to death.” You thumb behind you.

A moment of silence stretches between you, and his smile seems to drop a little.

“Ah, uh, too macabre for ya?” You give an apologetic shrug and nervous smile. You feel extremely awkward now. Stupid, didn't think to wait on the dark humor.

“Nah, just wasn't expecting it, s’all.”

“Ah,” you simply say very awkwardly, because awkward seems to have become the style of air between you.

“Yep. So, wanna go in the café so we can officially get to the bones of all this?” He seems to have brushed it off, and for that you feel grateful. It helps you relax as well.

“Heh, sure,” you reply, and so you both walk into the café. You feel pretty chill around this guy, but there's something deep down that has you feeling uneasy. You figure it's the fact that he's a monster, and thus you ignore the crude feelings.

He leads you both to a table that's out of the way and hopefully private. Prying eyes and ears are quite annoying. As you sit down, you see a waiter approaching, and he seems the slightest bit nervous. Considering a skeleton, something commonly attributed to death, just walked into the door, you don't blame him too much for being a bit nervous. What if it's the grim reaper? You highly doubt the grim reaper would be dressed in basketball shorts and a jacket… unless he was off duty. You realize that you'll technically be roommates with the grim reaper’s relative… Is that insensitive than funny to think?

“Hello, I'm Darren, I'll be your server for the day.” You look up and find the server standing by your table, so you smile in hopes to get him to relax.

“Hello Darren,” you say, as Sans says something in the same manner.

Darren lists off some specialties of the day in a detached manner as he places down the menus. He then asks if you want something to drink.

“Cherry Coke, please,” you say as politely as possible. They say “kill 'em with kindness,” and you live by that rule.

Sans pipes up after a second, “Can you bring out a bottle of ketchup? I need to ketchup on my intake of condiments.”

The waiter seems stunned, and then seems to catch himself. “Oh, yes, of course. Coming up” Darren writes down the orders and, with the promise of being right back, he scurries off. You watch him go for a moment, analyzing his body language.

“So,” Sans begins, catching your attention.

When you look back and he doesn't continue, you prompt with a quirk of the mouth, “So?”

“You're interested in moving in with us.” He sounds very matter of fact, and there's a hint of something else. Is it… hesitance?

“Um, yeah,” you scratch your cheek partly in nervousness. “I uh, I wasn't sure if you would be alright with our situation… in terms of needed space. So I'm glad I get to meet with you and talk more about it.” You look at him with a smile.

“Heh, yeah…” he says, appearing and sounding distracted.

A thought occurs to you. “Um… that is why you wanted to meet, right? I'm sorry if I assumed-”

“Nah, it's okay. I kinda wanted to talk about that, so you're not wrong.”

“Ah, heh, that's a relief then,” you sigh.

“I got some questions for ya. See if you and whoever lives with you are qualified and all that.” He gives you a few funny looks as he says that.

“Sure,I get that. Can't be too careful.”

“Yeah, sure can't.”

You smile in a hopefully relaxing way. “Well, if you're wondering,I live with my family currently. My mom, my bro, and my sis. We're all pretty tight.”

“Oh yeah, Paps mentioned something like that.”

“Oh heh, then you already knew.”

“Doesn't hurt to get a refresher.”

“Yeah, true…”

“So your living space now… What's it like if ya don't mind me asking?”

“Well, we're pretty cramped in both the noun and verb use of the word. Like, not enough rooms, and room, ya get me.”

“Heh, yeah,not enough room.”

You smile sheepishly, “Yeah, so… Plus our living situation is… precarious. Like, technically my mom and I are legally homeless… or something.” He quirks a brow at that. “Um, I mean my mom's last apartment style house was sold and we had to book it because of that. So… yeah.”

“That does sound pretty precarious. To patella you the truth, it sounds like your living situation is a bit fractured.”

You snort and chuckle at his pun before answering. “Heh, yeah, it's… pretty rough. I'm actually in the dorms right now, so it's technically not my main place of residence. But it will be if we don't get a house, or something, before summer comes around.”

“Ah, so you're definitely in a bit of a rut.”

“Yeap… indeed a rut it is. Very rutty. Er, you know…”

He seems to do a stranger version of a smirk. “Can't say I do, actually.” What a shit eating grin. You never thought…

You feel embarrassed, so you look away as you speak, “Anyway!” Shit, that sounded way more high pitched than you thought it would, “what kinds of things would you like to talk about?”

“Well, I was kinda hoping we could talk about my brother.”

You perk up at that, but you're also a bit confused. “Oh really?” 

“Yeah…” he says, and then begins a talk that screams undertones of threats. You might have just met the grim reaper while he's off duty. 

Holy shit.

You might end up rooming with the grim reaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know it just kinda drops off right at the end, but my tired mind is very... tired. Maybe I'll come back to it later! ;D


	5. The Desire For Monotony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna has fallen into the underground, and she doesn't want anything to do with adventure. That doesn't mean there isn't some drama that still infiltrates her life. Plus, her curiosity seems to get the better of her when she can't help but wonder what the corridor under Toriel's house is all about.
> 
> Sometimes, questions are better left unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I technically released a chapter yesterday, but it didn't register as an update and I couldn't wait to put one of the longer chapters in this story. This one is in first person, because that's just how I wrote it. Good times, eh? Anyway, hope you can find some enjoyment.

 

I frown at her implementations. “I don't want to leave.”

Toriel scowls, “it's what they all do, so why would you be any different?”

“Cause I'm older, and I know when to appreciate what's given to me.” A crack in her hollow expression gives me hope. “I like it here. It's relaxing and friendly, and I feel like I can delve into my hobbies now that I have so much time, and there's not much distraction. Plus, you're here!” I throw my hands out to her form. “You're like, the ultimate mother figure!” I frown, “I mean… I know my mom will miss me… and it's really sad and stuff, but this is probably what she'd want for me; a safe place to live. And maybe it's selfish of me to just stay here and let my mom worry, but… there's no way for me to contact her and tell her that I'm fine… She'd want me to stay here instead of going passed the dangerous door, as you said it is. So, I don't want to leave, because I know it's be for the best if I stayed here… probably.”

Toriel has tears in her eyes as she takes one long look at me. Seeming to find what she wants, she makes a soft relieved sound as she suddenly scoops me up in a hug, and it's a very warm hug. I feel tears come to my eyes as I hug her back and hear her whisper, “Thank you, dear.”

My voice sounds watery as I reply, “Yeah, no problem, heh.”

After that heartfelt moment, we move back upstairs and delve into light conversation mostly about the different activities we can do together and the hobbies I had mentioned earlier. Toriel is baking a pie to celebrate my staying here as we talk.

 

~~~

 

Tonight I find myself kept awake by unsettling thoughts plaguing my mind, and no matter how much I toss and turn to try and find a good position, I just can't seem to get comfortable. Finally, I deem this as another one of those sleepless nights and sit up in my bed with defeat. 

As I slip out if bed, I ponder the different possible activities I could partake in to help tire myself out. I could crochet, perhaps draw something, or maybe even take a walk through the ruins to further explore. The idea of checking on Toriel to see if she's awake flits through my head, but then I decide I don't want to risk waking her. So instead I shift through the different things in my room and start pulling things out of their stored areas.

First I try crocheting, but it doesn't help to keep my mind off of my running thoughts, so I move to drawing. Unfortunately, I run into the same problem as I try to focus on drawing; there's too much room in my head for thinking with these activities. I think about the walk I could take in the ruins, but again that leaves room in my head for thoughts to keep bothering me, and plus it's kind of creepy at night. Not to mention Flowey… I leave my room and huff as I walk out of hallway and towards the living room. I stop when the stairs catch my eye. I'd never really had a chance to explore that area, and it's not like I'd be leaving just because I went down there. I wondered if there were any secret passages or hidden treasure that Toriel never found. The idea of secrets hiding down below fills me with a childish excitement and, before I can give a second thought, my feet are already moving me down the steps. 

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I freeze up when I turn the corner and see the wall of shadow that greets me. For a moment I stare and ponder if I could even chance it. When I think about losing my way in the darkness as the damp air seems to seep into my skin, I shiver and decide it's a definite no-go. I turn tail and March myself back up the stairs, pondering possible light sources as I go. Toriel has fire magic, but there's no way I'd wake her up just for a childish game of exploration that will almost definitely end with nothing exciting. I ponder the idea of a flashlight, and that’s when I remember that I have a powered lamp in my room.

I don't hesitate to quickly move into my room and start scouring every inch of the place for a flashlight. I check every dresser drawer, behind and under each piece of furniture, and even check every corner of the room. Soon enough, as I'm panting a little with my exciting yet frustrating scavenger hunt, I check under the bed. As I spot a miracle cylindrical item in the back, I wonder why I hadn't checked there first and shimmy myself underneath a little to reach the obvious flashlight. Once I grab it, I quickly push myself out from under the bed and ponder the reason why it was under there as I go. I decide it might've just fallen or rolled under there and stand from the floor. I try the switch, and with another miracle the light comes on and bathes the room in a bright warm glow. 

Giddy with my find and excited to do some thorough investigating in the basement, I rush out of my room as quietly as possible and race down the stairs with an excitement-fueled confidence. When I turn the corner to face the hall again, I shine the flashlight down the hall to chase away the shadows, and it makes me feel so much braver when they disappear.

As I start walking down the hall, I regret not thinking to grab my shoes because my bare feet slap against the cold cement-like floor and I can feel the grime sticking to my soles. Despite this, I decide there's no going back and press onward with confident posture, inspecting each section of each wall for any strange outcroppings or something that might clue into something interesting.

I’m shuffling down the last corridor, pausing occasionally to inspect spots on the walls. I was decidedly glad that I hadn't taken a walk outside because I might have been pulled into an encounter, and that's especially not fun at night. I reach the end of the hall to stand before a looming door to the rest of the underground. A shiver goes up my spin, and I shake off the feeling before approaching the door and placing a hand on the cool stone. There's a strange subtle vibrating almost like crackling energy underneath my hand, and it makes me wonder if there's something behind the door that's causing the vibrations.

A sudden curiosity piques within me. I can't help but wonder what's behind the door, but I'm too afraid that opening it would cause irreversible consequences. So instead I move to put my ear against the door. The vibrations that I felt on my hand seem to engulf my skull the moment my head leans against the door, rattling my brain and teeth. Despite the discomfort, I leave my head against the door and listen closely. It's pure silence on the other side. I figure there's no one on the other side, so I decide to make some noise in hopes of getting a feel for the size of the room on the other side of the door. I knock three times, and then listen with held breath as the knocking seems to echo off the walls and around a room that's situated on the other side. It makes me curious about what kind of room it is, and if there's anyone on the other side that can't hear. With that thought, I realize how reckless my actions were because I could've alerted a monster to my presence and then-

A distant knock echoes back. My blood freezes in my veins at the sound, but before I can so much as think about leaving, I hear a baritone voice echo through the room. For a second, I can't tell what had been said, but then as the echo clears I hear the distinct fading words, “Knock knock.” The situation makes those words sound absolutely horrific. The person is trying to get me to respond, but there's no way I'm going to do that. “Aw, come on, humor me if you're there.”

I stay silent, not wanting to make a sound or attempt to creep away in case he can hear my footsteps. What if I do respond and he can tell from my voice that I'm human? What if he tells the king guy that there's a human here and they come to kill not only me, but Toriel as well? That would be horrible! 

“Alright then, I'll just tell a regular joke then. Maybe that'll help ya get into the spirit.” Jokes? There's no way this guy is serious. He's gotta have an ulterior motive for this shit. “Why didn't the skeleton go to the dance?” I almost drop my head against the door at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Because he had no-BODY to go with.” I catch myself before I can make a sound of laughter at his pun. Puns are my weakness, and if this is how it's going to go, then I should probably try to sneak away as quietly as possible before I start busting out laughing. I take a quiet calming breath before I push away from the door.

A scraping sound echoes loudly in the hall and in the room on the other side of the door, and I nearly piss myself because it startles me so bad. I step away quickly from the door and shine my light to see that the door had indeed moved outward. My heart seems to stop in my chest as I realize what I've just done.

Without thinking, I shine my light at the crack of the door, but it seems it didn't open enough to allow me to see into the room behind it. It's eerily silent now as I stand stock still, staring at the illuminated crack of the door, and then I realize the person who was telling jokes is quiet too. Oh God, did he leave to tell the king that someone's down here? Did you just doom yourself and Toriel? Are you both going to die?! 

“Heh,” the noise startles you a little, and your heart starts pounding as he continues to speak, “I guess you finally came around to answering the door.” Confusion racks my brain at his words, but I stay silent. “Still no talking, huh? Guess it was just an accident then.” He pauses “Ah well, more time for jokes.” He raps twice on the door and calls out, “knock knock.”

…

Is this guy serious? All that trepidation, and he doesn't even seem to care that someone's on the other side of the door? Maybe this guy isn’t so bad… No, he's just trying to lull me into a false of security. If that's the case though, he's doing a damn good job because I don't feel threatened as much as I used to. Still, I refuse to speak.

“Still nothin'?” Pause. “Alright, back to the regular jokes then.” I wonder if walking away would make much of a difference at this point. “Why did the skeleton cross the road?” But what if he hears my feet and they don't sound like monster feet? “To get to the body shop.” I snort quietly at that and then freeze up. It was silent for a moment, and then, “Still nothing huh? How about this,” I sigh quietly at that and then decide it's best that I leave now. He didn't seem to hear my gross snort, so he probably won't hear me tiptoe away. “Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?” I stall for a second with a want to hear the joke, but then I begin my slow tiptoeing travel to the stairs. “Because he didn't have the guts to do it.” 

A loud and unexpected guffaw explodes from my mouth, and I freeze up the moment it does. It's dead silent. The cold in the air seems to seem deep into my bones as I hold my breath in fear. 

“Heh, finally got ya.” Those words send ice through my veins and into my heart. Oh God he knows now. He's gonna tell, or maybe he'll find a way in. We're gonners! Run! Run away he's gonna get me!!!

Without another thought, I bolt back down the way I came from, not caring at this point if my footfalls are heard. It's not like the loud noise could easily be described as human feet, anyway. That's what I keep telling myself as I bust my ass sprinting back to the stairs as fast as possible. Each turn I take is cringe worthy, as my bare feet skid painfully against the rough stone floor and I end up smacking ungracefully against the wall before propelling myself forward.

When I reach the stairs, I clamor up them like some kind of horror reject hell bent on pouncing their victim. My legs collapse uselessly as I try to stand when I reach the top step, so I crawl as far away as I can from the stairs. Once I feel like I'm a safe distance from the stairs, I drop to my ass and latch my gaze to the cursed things, waiting for any sign of someone having followed me. As I stare at the stairs, my ears overcome with my own loud wheezing, I catch a glimpse of some dark patches on the carpet lit up by the light of the forgotten flashlight. I briefly realize I'd dropped the light by the stairs before looking back at the strange markings on the floor. They look reddish in color and seem like footsteps, leading all the way to… my feet.

I feel my face pale when I see the dimmed sight of my own feet. As I position them to get a better look, it feels like crackling energy is rising higher and higher with each passing second. Once I have them in proper view of the flashlight, I feel bile rise in my throat at the sight of the bloody mess that once were the soles of my feet. The world around me suddenly seems distant and unreal as I stare at my feet. Then the dull pain throbbing from them becomes a sharp stinging, and I hiss as the shock wears off.

My heart is beating a mile a minute as I try to think of what to do. I need to slow the flow of blood and wash my feet off, and the kitchen sink is probably the best place for that. However, I can't just walk over to the kitchen with bloody feet, because that'd ruin the carpet and it'd sting too much now that I'm aware of the pain. Speaking of pain, it's really hard to think with the constant stinging and throbbing that's invading my mind. I could always use my shirt to cover my feet. It might be indecent, but it's just me and Toriel living here, and Toriel is asleep anyway.  
Deciding my shirt will be honored for it's sacrifice, I take it off and rip it in two. I take each arm and put one over each of my feet first like a sock. When that's done I start wrapping them loosely , trying to hold back the pained noises I want so badly to make. Once my makeshift socks are secure enough, I attempt to get to my feet. That immediately fails when the pressure of my weight sends me back to the floor in a writhing mess of agony. It takes a minute for the pain to subside, and when it does I realize that I was stupid. I could easily crawl on my hands and knees with no problem.

As I mumble curses at my own stupidity and inattentiveness, I crawl over to the kitchen and sit beside the sink. I get to my knees and turn the water on, and then pause in thought for a moment. I quickly decide that using my shirt pieces to get water to my feet is easiest, so I painfully peel the shirt pieces off my feet and wet them both. Once that is done, I turn off the water and sit on my butt, holding each shirt piece in one hand. I stare at them, and then at my feet, and then I start psyching myself up to get ready for the excruciating pain that I'm about to go through.

~~~

It takes a lot of patience and careful dabbing of the wet cloth before the blood flow is nearly non-existent. I've cleaned off the shirt pieces and put them back over my feet as makeshift bandages to help stop the bleeding completely. The pain has dulled considerably since I first started cleaning my feet, and it makes me feel immense relief that it's all over. I don't even have the energy to crawl back to bed at this point. The cabinet is surprisingly comfy to lean against, and I doubt I'll fall asleep as easily if I wake myself up. So I leave at that and proceed to pass out right there. I can deal with this tomorrow anyway.

~~~

It's been a week since I went down to the basement. Toriel was practically beside herself with worry when I awoke to her shouting my name. She came running into the kitchen and scooped my tired and groggy body up into a pleasant hug. It felt like all of my pains and worries were swept away with that hug, and afterwards I learned that she had used healing magic on me at the time.

When Toriel let me go, I explained the situation rather vaguely, but she didn't seem too concerned with the monster on the other side of the door. She seemed more worried about me leaving, but after a moment of silence, she simply told me not to go down there without shoes and to let her know if I do it again. I agreed to the idea, and we went along with the day as if not much had changed with me thankfully having no problem walking.

Toriel had at one point mentioned something about the monster on the other side of the door, but I hadn't heard what she said. Upon asking her about it, she seemed as though she regret saying anything and simply brushed it off, changing the subject quicker than I could keep up. I decided to drop it. That was yesterday, and something about it really piqued my interest.

That's how I find myself awake in the middle of the night once again. I pull on some shoes and grab the flashlight from where I placed it, and then I set off to the stairs. I'm more curious about the monster than I am afraid at this point, and Toriel's reaction to the mentioned monster definitely has something to do with it.

I'm creeping down the stairs as quietly as possible, better equipped with shoes and a brighter flashlight. I would have told Toriel about wanting to inspect this place, and hopefully hear the mystery monster again, but I was afraid Toriel would say no. Her reaction to my story had been very mixed up. She didn't seem to really see the punny monster as a threat, but she definitely had some hang ups about me being introduced. I didn't want to clue her into my plan in case she was against it, so I decided to go alone. It's not like the monster could get through the door anyway, because Toriel had said she put seal on it. I found that kind of strange, but it's not really my place to ask about her past.

I've been making my way down the hall that we're responsible for scraping up my feet the last time I was down here. I keep hearing a shifting noise far behind me every so often, and it makes me wonder if Toriel is looking out for me. I figure it must be her, because who else could be down here? The front door is locked, which is something Toriel had recently been doing ever since I started officially living here. So there's no way it'd be anyone else. The sound wasn't here the last time I was here, and it certainly sounded like someone was moving behind me. It was kind of creepy, but I'm sure Toriel is just letting me be a “child”… even though I'm not exactly a child.

I can finally see the large doors just up ahead. As I approach their form, I start to feel intimidated by the size of the doors. Knowing there's a definite possibility of someone being on the other side of the door made the situation much more tense.

A shiver goes up my spin, and I shake off the feeling before I reach a hand out and place it on the door, and the same vibrations travel up my arm and through my skin. It makes me shiver with fear and excitement. I carefully place my ear against the door like last time.

The vibrations engulf my skull like before, making my teeth clatter very subtly. This time, I relate the sensation to getting a machine massage and revel in the familiar sensation, then I listen closely. It's silent on the other side, but that won't fool me like last time. I hold my breath and listen as close as I can, wondering if the possible monster on the other side has audible breathing or something.

“Planning to leave?” I jolt and rip my head away from the door. Where did that come from? “Are you bored with Toriel now?” It comes from behind me, so I whirl around with my flashlight to face the voice. There's no one there, and my spine chills considerably. “I'm down here you idiot.” I shine my light downward and see a yellow flower with a face… Flowey. He's sneering at me for a second before it becomes his typical false facade. “Typical humans…” he tsks. I must have looked confused, because he clarifies in a degrading tone. “You all leave eventually. Too bored with the monotony of the ruins. Not that I'm complaining.” He smiles with a dark undertone. “When you die, it'll give me a chance to absorb your soul!” He sounds downright demonic at this point, and some “friendliness pellets” appear around him.

I dodge the bullets and bolt from the place as fast as I can. “Yes, that's right! RUN FROM YOUR PROBLEMS! THAT'LL SOLVE EVERYTHING WONT IT?!”

My feet pound against the stone floor as I run down the hall, each step sending a jolt up my leg as the sound bounces throughout the hallway. I swing my flashlight around to check behind me for just a moment, but it's all it takes to have my body smack into a wall. Everything cuts out for a second, and then I'm stumbling back with a splitting headache. I clutch my head in a hand, holding my flashlight in the other, as I take a second to regain my bearings.

Something shifts beside me, so I swing the flashlight around and see Flowey grinning horrifically at me, and the lighting only makes it more disturbing. He starts cackling, so I take no time in running down the hall that hopefully leads back to the stairs. My eyesight keeps blurring with every step, and my head is having trouble staying up, but I manage to keep running. All the way until I run into another wall, which happens to give way to the force of the collision. I topple to the floor, and I just lay there, too stunned from the dual impact to really think about anything other than the dizzy feeling and how fast the Earth seems to be spinning right now.

I hear another cackle behind me, and that snaps me out of it enough to push myself up and propel myself forward, putting my hands out this time to keep from busting my head open. When I open my eyes as I'm running, I realize I've dropped my flashlight when I see the darkness swallowing my vision. The last bit of light has faded behind me from the flashlight, so I'm running blind. I realize I must look stupid with my hands out stretched as I run, but I don't have long to think about it before I trip on some raised ground. I hit the ground hard yet again, but this time I save my head by scraping up my arms on the hard stone beneath me.

I look up ahead to see a vertical sliver of light up ahead. I realize that I’ve gone off course from the stairs, but remembering Flowey has me thankful for a possible means of safety. So I scramble up and dash forward with arms extended. It only takes a few steps before my hands slam painfully into what I now realize is another set of double doors. It's clearly not the same ones from earlier, I think as I fall into a chilly soft flooring. I take a second to recover before my scrunched eyes open to take in my surroundings.  
Snow. The ground is covered in snow. Am I outside the mountain? I glance around and see a path straight ahead with extremely tall and creepy trees on either side. They look like they're dead, but it could just be from the cold. When my eyes follow the trees up, I see above me is nothing but darkness. No stars, not even a moon, and it doesn't look like clouds. In all honesty, it looks like… My heart sinks in disappointment as I realize the similarities to the ceiling in the ruins. A mixed set of emotions follow this realization, and I find myself laughing at the cruel “prank” that the area has played on me. I want to cry, and I feel the tears on the brink of appearance, but instead I start laughing like a crazy person, clutching my head and holding my stomach. It hurts, because I really thought… but no.

I decide it's be best to calm down and piece as much of this together as I can. I take a few shuddering breaths that's not just from the cold. I get to my feet and take another look around, holding my body tightly to keep in some warmth. I begin to think about where I could be. This is most likely the other side of the doorway, and there must've been two sets of doors. I must've ran into the first set when I fell. Flowey probably won't come out here because it's so cold. I wonder if that mysterious monster is out here… I wonder if I'm safe.

I turn to face the ruin doors, but I'm horrified to find them shut tight. I feel the blood drains from my face. “No…” I rush over to them and try to get my fingers into the crack of the door, but it doesn't work. “No!” I start scraping my fingers against the door, trying the latch, and even kick it a few times. “Damn it!” I pound my fists on the door a few times, and then I rest my head against it in momentary defeat. I sigh, frowning at my own stupidity as I go over the situation I'm in. I should’ve told Toriel about going down here. I could've left a note so she'd know. I should've grabbed my phone! Stupid flower,messing up everything and being a lil’ shit. He could've killed me! If I hadn't have run into that wall… If only I'd remembered that he was down here… Maybe it's all be okay…

I raise my head and take a deep breath, puffing out my chest before releasing the air in a cloud of visible moisture. That's right, it's kind of cold out here. I step back from the door and start to analyze it. Maybe if I can get something wedged between the crack, then I could get in. I look around, spotting a bush to my right as I do, and then realize that a large stick might be able to help. So I trudge into the woods a few paces, scouring the forest floor for some kind of branch. I kick a few snow piles, but most of it's roots while the rest only snow. 

After a while of coming up empty handed, I huff and follow my footsteps back to the main path. When I step out of the woods, however, I'm surprised to find myself a few yards away from the ruin door. I scratch my head in puzzlement, looking at the distinct snow impressions in the distance that I'd made earlier. However, my mood perks up a little when I see a stick sitting in the middle of the path just a few steps away. Grinning happily, I trot over to the stick, which is actually a rather hefty branch, and grab one side to drag it backwards through the snow and back to the doorway.

I'm grinning triumphantly as I stare at the branch and the noticeable trail in carves through the snow, making my way backwards to the doorway, when something catches my foot. I'm only startled for half a second before I decide that I don't want to meet the ground again, so I let go of the branch to steady myself with my waving arms and stumbling feet. I manage to step over the criminal as I steady myself, and I look down to see a branch at my feet. Then I realize that it's the only branch at my feet. My face quirks in serious confusion as I stare at the trail that the branch had been carving, and where it suddenly stopped half a yard away from my current spot. No branch was sitting where I had dropped it, and I know I just tripped over the one directly at my feet. An audible noise of confusion escapes me as I stare at the scene before me. I could even see the impression of my stumbling feet in the snow, and it was right where the branch lay. There's absolutely no way…

So I just drop it, because I don't have time for this shit. I pick up this “new” branch, which I just tell myself is the same branch I'd been dragging despite the obvious loopholes. I start dragging it again, but it seems a little easier to do. Either the break did some good, or the branch is lighter. Again, I drop the issue as I keep dragging the branch, and soon enough my butt runs into the chilled stone door. I lift the branch carefully and press the end against crack in the door, and then I begin attempting to wedge it in between the two slabs of stone. I try all different kinds of angles and force of pressure, but nothing seems to work. After five minutes of doing this, I yell in frustration and start slamming the door with the stick. I could break the door somehow, or at least get Toriel's attention if she can hear this.

Everything breaks apart with the branch with a particularly strong swing. Splinters shower the surrounding area including me, and I have to jump back to avoid the flying piece that caved under the stress of my anger. I hold the significantly lighter branch piece in one hand as I stare at the only thing in the way of my new home. I just stare, splinters and melted snow still covering my body in different places. All I can do is stare, because what else can I do at this point? It felt like my will to keep trying broke with the branch, and staring is all I can do to keep the swirling emotions at bay just underneath my skin. 

I feel the branch piece finally slip from my loosened grip, and the sound of it hitting the snow snaps me out of my trance. I look down at the branch, then at the other half of the branch laying by the door, then at the shower of wood chips, and finally at the door itself. Something starts building up in my body, and the more I stare at the door, the more I feel it. Finally, as I glaring hatefully at the door, a scream of frustration starts up in my throat. My fists are shaking with anger as I scream wordlessly at the door, at Flowey, at the weak stick, at Toriel because why not, and most of all at myself. I stomp around heatedly, kick some snow around, and even regretfully kick the door. My scream slowly diminishes as I hold my aching foot, and then the tears start to fall. A few small hiccups fill the air as I allow myself free expression of my emotions. It's not like anyone is here.

The snow crunches a few times behind me, and my body freezes up as I go silent. Oh God, did they see all that…? No, what if they're dangerous?! I gotta-

“Heh,” and just like that, the situation changes. I recognize that voice from a week ago. I hold my breath, and sure enough he speaks. “I don't snow what that door did to you, but I doubt it needs the rough treatment.”

Despite the silly comment, I can feel the tension in the air, and I know it's not just my own fear coating the area. I take a breath and start to turn, but then pause. Should I…? Has he seen my face? Does he know I'm human? It doesn't seem like he does…

“Anyway, it's rude to keep your back faced to a new pal. Why don't you turn around and shake my hand, h u m a n.”

… Holy shit. Okay. … Can he fucking read minds? Because that was so spot on it gave me some serious chills. Nonetheless, I figure it'd be best to do as he says. It's not like I have much to lose at the this point, and he hasn't attacked me yet. Probably easing me into a false sense of security, like last… time…

When I remember who this monster is, I take a deep breath meant to calm my nerves, and then I get to my feet as I breathe out. I take another moment to steel my nerves, and then I turn.

Before me, against all odds of time and space, is a figure completely cloaked in shadow, with his hand outstretched to me. I feel my resolve crack some, but I swallow my fear and, with a determined face, I reach out and grasp the hand with a firm-

PPPPFFFFFFFFFFTHTHTHTHTHTHHHHHHH… 

He shows his hand as the shadows immediately dissipate with the tense atmosphere to reveal an anatomically inaccurate skeleton and a small pink rubber circle in his palm. “Whoopee cushion in the hand trick,” he says with a grin, “it's always funny.”

I stare at him like he has two heads, which he might as well have at this point, because how much weirder can this get? I mean, what the hell was that?! I take a second to push aside my flabbergastation when I see his smile drop slightly, and I try to remedy the awkwardness that I just created. “U-uh… hi.” I wave my hand, absently looking at his clothes. A blue jacket with a white shirt and black shorts. “I-I know you, kind'a.” The black shorts have a vertical white stripe on the front of each leg. “I… I heard you… once.”

An eyebrow… bone, bone brow, quirks above his socket at my words, and he looks a bit mischievous as he speaks, “So that was you last week, huh?” I feel embarrassed by how easily he figured it out. “Well, not to worry. It was kinda disappointing when you didn't return any jokes, but I don't blame ya. New people must rattle your bones, huh?”

My mouth quirks at the irony in that statement, and I scoff with a smile as I say, “ Oh yeah, because that's something that totally happens to me like, all the time.”

He gives me a funny look, but then he starts shooting off with all kinds of puns, ironic phrases, and plays on words that has me guffawing just like the first time heard his jokes. His smile never leaves his face, but it does seem to get wider the more I laugh. It makes me wonder if he can stop smiling at all. At one point, I've started to noticeably shiver from the cold, and before I have a chance to retaliate, my skeleton buddy has placed his jacket around my body. I blush at the gentlemanly gesture, having never had anyone go out of their way to make me comfortable. He looks away with a strange face, probably knowing what I'm thinking and feeling awkward about it. I find this a perfect point to make necessary subject change.

“So what's your name, mister skeledude?”

He looks at me like I just told a joke, which I guess I did, and then says, “The name's Sans. Sans the skeleton.”

Before he goes on, I butt in with, “But isn't that title contradictory?”

His grin widens, “Yep.”

When there's silence for a beat, I start laughing at the situation, tugging my arms through the warm jacket as I do.

“So what brings you out here?” he suddenly asks

My laughter immediately as I feel like the weight of my situation just dropped on my shoulders again. “Um, well…”

“Tryin'a get through the underground?” he says, and there's something deep in his voice that tells me he doesn't want the answer to be a yes.

“No! I just…” I wonder if telling him about Flowey would be a good idea. “I was… chased out. Of the ruins I mean. I live there…”

He gives me a look filled with too much to pinpoint. “From the door? Bud, those doors don't open. Trust me, I've tried.”

“But they do!” I burst out. “Just… from the other side.”

“Listen kid, I dunno what you think happened, but I can assure you that those doors won't open for anything.”

I look him steadily in the eye sockets and say with as much weight behind my words as I can muster, “They do open, and I did come from there.” I hope he can see the truth behind my words.

He simply stares at me with a focused look for a minute, and then he sighs and says, “Alright, I'll believe ya I guess. What are ya gonna do about it though? Like I said, those doors open for no one. Your little fiasco earlier only proves my point.”

I'm about to respond before his last words suddenly process in my mind. I feel my face grow hot and I mumble something about being resourceful before telling him my plan. “A-anyway, I figured I could wait here for Toriel. I'm sure she'll come check up on the ruin doors and see the first set is open.” I think for a moment about it, and then say, “I only hope she doesn't think I left her…”

It's silent for a moment, then, “So you're friends with the old lady, huh? That's Toriel, right?”

I look at him in surprise, and then I realize something. “Yeah, and you're her joke buddy, right?”

“Heh, she talks about me? I'm flattered…” He looks away and scratches his skull, which makes a soft sounding version of nails on a chalkboard. I feel my eye twitch and my skin shudders, but I keep my mouth shut as I pull Sans’ jacket closer together with my arms.

Proceeding that awkward moment, Sans and I begin sharing more jokes and funny moments to pass the time as we wait for Toriel to come look for me. As we stand there talking and laughing, it occurs to me that it's the middle of the night, and thus Toriel is sleeping away said night. I voice my concerns to Sans, but he simply says that there's a good chance she's awake. For a moment I'm confused, but as if on cue a knock comes from the other side of the door. I jolt a bit, thinking it could be Flowey and thus feel fear start to overcome me, but then I hear her voice call out.

“Hello?” She sounds worried. Must've checked my before coming down here. She does that sometimes.

“Heya old lady,” Sans calls out in a way that sounds like it's traditional. “Ya never told me your name was Toriel,” he adds.

“How did you-” she starts, sounding surprised, but it seems that situation has dwan on her. “Have you been talking with Anna?”

“That depends,” he says, then turns to you with a bigger smile as he says, “What's your name, kid?”

I smile at him and say, “Anna.”

“Really?” he says, and I hear Toriel sigh with relief on the other side of the door. “Hm… you sure you're the right Anna?”

I giggle as I reply cheekily, “I dunno, guess we'll have to open the door to check.”

Sans looks to the door with his neutral smiling expression, but I figure he still feels a bit hung up about the idea of the door opening. “Guess so,” he says, and I can hear something in his voice that seems out of place. It's not scepticism though, but it sounds almost downtrodden. Is he sad to see me go?

Toriel is silent for a moment, and then she audibly agrees before the doors slowly start to open with the grating sound of stone on stone. I feel giddy at the prospect of showing Sans that the doors open, and it seems like this will be the first time these two friends will see each other for the first time. That seems kind of weird, but it's still exciting to be caught up in such a strange ordeal.

When door opens enough for me and Sans to see into the ruins, I look to Sans and find him staring at Toriel with something I can't place. With a shrug, I scurry off to Toriel and give her a big hug, as does she.  
“Oh mi gawd, Toriel! I'm so so so sorry that I left without writing a note or telling you I was gonna come down here! I didn't know that this would happen and I was so scared that I lost my way and ran through the door and then I couldn't get-”

“My child!” she says with a hint of a laugh, and I raise my head to see her smiling gently down at me. “It's alright, you did wonderful waiting out here for me. And I see you have acquired a new piece of clothing.” 

I look down and see that I still have Sans’ jacket on. “Oh! Hah, my bad. I'll give it back Sans.” I step away from Toriel and start to pull it off, but I see Sans raise his hand.

“Keep it,” he says. “I got a ton more at home.” There's a beat of silence, and then, “a skele-TON.” And he winks.

Toriel starts cracking out, and I laugh a little, but I can see why these two get along. The jokes make Toriel so happy.

“When is a door not a door,” he begins.

“When?” I say, as Toriel is still recovering from her laughing fit.

“When it's a-JAR.”

And there I go laughing as well, and Toriel starts laughing all over again. When we finally settle down, the atmosphere kind of tenses up when Sans speaks again.

“So, Toriel, I thought you said this door couldn't ever be a jar.” He scratches his head, making my teeth grit and my hair's stand on end.

Toriel gets noticeably uncomfortable at the accusation, and then it all clicks for me. Sans’ earlier tone of voice must've been some kind of betrayal. I suddenly feel like I just wedged myself between a tense friendship. “Well,” she begins awkwardly, “ it was for a good reason… that I don't feel needs to be addressed.” The air has a strange intensity to it.

“Huh, well if you really feel that way…” and they're both silent.

Then Toriel speaks up again, “Um, Sans? Could you keep this a secret? From the rest of the underground, please.”

Sans is quiet for a moment, and then he speaks, “Sure.” I see and hear Toriel relax. “Someone who loves puns as much as you do… I can respect your decision.”

Toriel smiles happily as she speaks, “Thank you, Sans. It means a lot for you to burden yourself with my secret.”

“Heh, it-snow problem, Tori. Your secret’s safe with me.”

I smile at him with a similar amount of relief that Toriel feels. “Thanks Sans.” If anyone were to investigate the ruins, that'd make it hard for you to stay alive. They could even start to move in, and where would that put you?! Plus Toriel might be considered a fugitive for housing you! You don't want Toriel to get in trouble because of you. That just wouldn't be fair.

“Like I said, snow problem,” he says with a shrug.

Toriel smiles admirably at him, and then we each say our goodbyes before Toriel shuts the ruins door and then turns to me. She gives me a stern look and then says, “I thought we agreed that you'd tell me if you'd come down here.”

I look down in shame and tell her the truth. “ I was afraid you'd say no…” a comforting paw sets softly on my shoulder, so I look up and find a sweet and forgiving smile on Toriel's face.

“It's alright, my child. You've learned your lesson now, haven't you?” I nod. “Good, then we can put this behind us and remember what we learned from it.” She places a paw on my back and hands me my flashlight before we start to make our way back to the stairs. “ By the way,” she says thoughtfully, “what was it that had you so afraid, my child?”

I pause for a second at the question, but then I decide it's best left for another time. “Maybe I'll tell you later, Toriel. It's not something I wanna talk about down here.”

“Alright then, I'll let it slide for now,” she says teasingly, and we laugh a little before starting to talk about future plans and meeting Sans as we walk back to the stairs. I hear a shifting somewhere behind up, and my skin crawls a little, but I feel safe with Toriel by my side.

I won't be so reckless in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote half of this overnight... I'm very tired, but I can't fall asleep for some reason. Anyway, I hope this chapter was entertaining in some way. G'night!


	6. Wasting Time (Genocide Survival)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is but a dream.  
> ...  
> Or a nightmare. 
> 
> You've awoken with some intense déjà vu. At first you try to brush it off. Until your brain kicks into overdrive, and then suddenly you're very worried about the striped shirt child walking around. Then you get your first eye opener, and it feels like your heart has been ripped apart.
> 
> You'll get help from the one who knows the most. Just as soon as he stops threatening you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suspense is heavy in this short thing. 
> 
> Some things to potentially look out for: anxiety, PTSD, threats of death, people die, bloody skinned human flesh, murder, assholes, trust issues.  
> Lemme know if ya spot some I missed!

You reach out to frisk despite the distance, screaming his name as his hand comes down and-

You put the book back into the slot on the shelf, wondering about… Wait, what book were you reading? You look at the title, and it has something to do with monster history. Oh yeah, you remember this book. Back when you were living with Toriel you read it when… But as you look around, you find that you're still at Toriel’s place? No… you must have never left. You must have been dreaming or something. Yeah… and Toriel is just doing a typical round in the underground. There's no kid other than you down here. Yeah, a wild, crazy dream. But how did you end up out here if you were just dreaming? Maybe you blacked out? Maybe you were sleepwalking… But you vaguely remember waking up and walking out here. It must have been you remembering the dream as you were reading the book. Or perhaps you had a lapse in memory and simply forgot that you came out here after sleep. That makes you nervous about your current state of mind. Is your mind failing you? Are you experiencing incredibly early onset Alzheimer's? Oh God, are you… going brain dead? 

You hold your head as the weighing stressful thoughts plague your mind, moving to sit in Toriel's comfy chair by the fireplace. You question whether you're even sane, and how much you've forgotten, or how many times this might have happened and you never noticed or simply forgot.

The door opens, and Toriel's kind voice rings out to you. You stand without hesitation, fully intent on sharing your worries and hoping her knowledge might help you… but the words die in your throat and you freeze in place when you seem them. Him. The kid. From you dream. Oh God, he's real. Please no, don't let it be true. It must be a dream. They must be an illusion. You're hesitant yet questioning eyes find Toriel's, silent asking whether she can see him or not. He face only shows confusion and concern. What does that mean? Does she think you're going crazy? Are you indeed staring at an empty spot? You hope to God that's the-

“My child… this is Frisk.” She motions to the kid, and her hand drops on their shoulder. Oh God, she's touching their shoulder. He's going to murder her and he's real! He's real oh God her hand didn't face through!

You're lurching forward to push her away and stand in front of her before you can think. She makes a surprised noise, but your eyes are currently focused on burrowing into the skull of the murderer in the house. He stares back with that familiar emotionless look. You're breathing heavily, most likely from fear and the need to be ready for anything. He moves, and you tense… but he simply walks into the living room and sits at the table. Confusion and unease settles into you, but you remember that last time he seemed just as nonchalant. Wait, last time? That was a dream though, wasn't it? It had to have been. But if that's the case, then… Oh boy, what do you look like right now? You're overreacting. You look to Toriel.

Your instincts went haywire, but it was a dream. A dream… right? What else could it be? A vision? A warning from some higher power? Or maybe you're psychic and your powers have finally come to fruition. Or maybe it's a soul thing. Someone outside the ruins said souls… Wait, outside the ruins is a place you haven't been yet. But maybe you will go there, after Frisk… God, you don't even want think about that. But this brings you back to your dilemma. What the hell is going on with you? Did you have some kind of warning vision for what's to come? Maybe it's a huge coincidence. Maybe Frisk just looks similar to the person in your dreams. But what about that reaction you had to seeing them? That feeling… it was like you knew, automatically, that this kid was dangerous. You need more information, answers.

“Child, are you alright?” Toriel asks.

You snap out of your thoughts and give her an unconvincing smile. “Yeah, I'm… fine. Just shaken from a dream I had.”

“Hm, yes. I felt similar when I awoke this morning. Perhaps we can talk about it with some pie.”

“Yeah, sounds good…” but concern never leaves you. In fact, as you approach the table Frisk is sitting at, the feeling grows. Once you've sat at the table, you feel like your hands are pruny from all the sweat collecting on them.

Toriel comes in and sets a piece of pie in front of both of you, but you don't look at it. You don't even care to register what she says, because you're trying so hard to find something, anything, in the blank expression on Frisk's face. You expect him to give you a creepy sneaky look of some sort, but nothing happens. Instead, you find Toriel's soft paw touching your arm from across the table. It brings you back to the present, and you look to her with a haunted look. Concern is etched into her furry goat face. Your hardened gaze softens at this, and you sigh with an apology. Toriel smile reassuringly, and then the table falls into meager conversation held between you and Toriel. Though, to be honest, Toriel is doing most of the talking because you can't help but glance at Frisk every so often.

~~~

You're lying in bed, staring up at the discolored ceiling as thoughts race through your head. Sans had said in the judgement Hall that there was an anomaly. Something was messing with timelines. At the time, you thought he was just talking crazy after seeing all of the underground die before him, but now you're not so sure. Sans… he would know a thing or two about all this, wouldn't he? That is, if he exists… 

In that supposed timeline or dream, you had been trying so hard to reach the capital before Frisk, but every time you'd spot him you'd have to waste time hiding. The dust… He was always covered in dust… Sometimes you accidentally breath it in, and then you'd gag and waste even more time trying to calm down. God, what the FUCK was that DREAM?! It felt so real, so detailed and alive! And you can remember just about every moment of fear you felt.

~~~

You awake to the faintest of noises, and with it comes the realization that you drifted to sleep. Feet patter past your room in the hallway. An unsettling amount of familiarity and trepidation settles in your gut. After a moment of cowering with the blanket pulled to your face, you manage to gather the courage to leave your bed and inspect the situation. You poke your head out of your door, and you're somehow not surprised to find no one in the hall. You have a feeling that those feet were headed to the stairs, and some kind of knowing fear settles further into you. Despite the feeling, you have a need for confirmation and move to the stairs.

You stand at the stairway, looking into the inky blackness just below the third step. You fiddle with your fingers before a strange memory of a flashlight in your room comes to mind. Despite knowing you've never done this before and thus have never needed the possibly non-existent flashlight, you race back to your room and find the flashlight exactly how you remember it. 

The scary feeling in your gut is rising with every moment you spend dawdling, so you scurry back to the basement stairs. You waste no time rushing down the stairs, flicking the light on as you go. When you reach the bottom, another feeling freezes your blood cold. You recognize it as familiarity, but it carries with it knowledge that you don't want to confirm. Nevertheless, you push yourself to move again in hopes of proving your “memory” wrong. When you move past that point in a run, you feel like you've passed the point of no return. It fuels you forward, because there's nowhere else to go.

You run down the long corridor, your bare feet skidding against the griddle on the floor. You imagine your feet are bleeding based on the sting that has steadily grown. You don't care, because that's the least of your worries right now. Your destination is far more important. You want to see your hopes become reality.

You reach the last corridor, which also happens to be the longest. In the distance, you spot Frisk standing before Toriel. You push yourself to move faster, hoping it's not too late. Toriel seems unharmed as you get close enough to tell. Frisk is slightly battered, but he appears steadfast from his posture. He holds himself very tensely. Toriel goes in for a hug, and you feel fear and relief on the cusp of you mind, not sure which one is warranted. Frisk moves forward, and it looks like he's about to reach for her… but a glint is all that you get for a warning before a slash appears across Toriel's flank. She drops to her knees, speaking something to Frisk that you can't hear past the blood pounding in your ears.

Horror. You feel horrified. 

“Oh God…” your breathing picks up to the point it's all you can hear. A scream of defiance and grief rips from your throat as you sink to your knees. He stabbed her. He got her in her most vulnerable moment. Toriel… Toriel's eyes find yours as she begins to fade to dust. The look she gives you… it holds fear. You realize you're in the path of a murderer. 

Your eyes find Frisk, and he's looking right back at you with wide, red eyes, and a creepy smile. You blood runs cold.

“R… run,” Toriel gasps out, before she fades to dust. 

You turn and run.

You run as fast as your feet can go, taking wide strides and trying your best to keep your panicked breathing more even. Each turn further skins your feet, but it's a mere minor annoyance in comparison to the fear that threatens to completely cloud your mind and force a scream from your mouth. You try your best to focus on breathing evenly, and before you know it, you can see the stairs.

You trip up the stairs, and waste no time in scrambling the rest of the way up, flashlight forgotten at the bottom. You bolt to the front door in a flash and burst through it. As you run the short length across the front yard, you think of where to go. The rest of the ruins. You've never been there, and you doubt Frisk has been there. It's your best bet. At the hall, you skid to the left twice in a few foot falls, and when you reach the balcony of sorts, you frantically look around for a moment before seeing a hidden set of stairs to the left. You vault over the edge and try to get your feet under you, but you end up rolling all the way down. Your back slaps against the ground at the bottom. The breath is partially knocked from you, but you force yourself to your feet anyway. 

In a dazed panic, you clumsily rush through the first street you see. You run for a few moments, taking a turn here and there, before your chest feels like it's constricting itself and you're about to pass out. So you rush into the first building you see open. The moment you slow down and shut the door, you're violently coughing. You fear Frisk might hear you, so you stumble up the stairs to the second floor. You start belting out cough after agonizing cough, throat parched and lungs feeling like they might collapse. After a moment, you settle down. All seems quiet, and it's unsettling. You take these precious moments to calm your breathing and rub some of the soreness out of your muscles. You get to your feet and cringe at the bloody mess. Then a thought occurs to you. A horrible, terrifying thought.

You've been bleeding this entire time. You head slowly begins to turn. You've been bleeding since you ran down the basement corridor to see Toriel… and Frisk. You've been bleeding, nonstop, since you left, and your feet have been getting cut up since then until this point. You look back at the doorway to the room you're in. There's a trail of bloody footprints right up to where you're sitting. You feel yourself pale, and your blood freezes over once again. There's a God damn trail leading right up to your spot. Oh God, he's coming right for you. What if he's waiting right outside that doorway? Waiting for you to feel safe enough to leave, and then you're suddenly dead on the spot. Or maybe he'll take his time with you, slowly carving into your flesh. He'll do things to you that he can't do to monsters. He has all the time in the world to make you into his masterpiece. You'll be his canvas, his work of art, and you know he'll enjoy every bit of suffering-

“She's in here Chara!” a high pitched voice calls from outside.

Flowey. Flowey the mother fucking flower. The piece of shit just called your presence. Stupid flower let you know that Frisk is coming. Er, Chara, you guess his name is. Nonetheless, you jump to your feet, grimacing at the renewed sting and throbbing that engulfs your soles, and the pun is indeed warranted. You move to the window and peek out as discreetly as you can. Yup, there's that bastard, looking… oh no. Frisk is in the distance, walking at the same pace as he always does. It sends a chill through you. And your trail of bloody footprints is right underneath his shoes. That makes you realize something.

You pull back and glance around the room. Your eyes land on an old quilt with a surprising lack of dust, or maybe it's completely normal… but you decide to ignore that and grab it without hesitation. You quickly start ripping it into large pieces and a few strips. The larger pieces are placed around your feet and bunched at the ankles, each having a few strips tied tightly around the fabric to keep it in place. The soles of your feet sting with the contact, but you ignore it and quickly stand. You carefully peak out the window. The stupid shit flower is gone, and… Frisk is walking into the building. Oh God, he's in the building. How did he move so fast? You look around the room for ideas. Did you really spend that much time up here? Fuck, what do you-? The blanket! You grab it, and are about to tear it into strips, but you glance at the door and quickly shut it. You don't want Frisk to reach you so quickly. You shove a dresser in front of it, thankful for your young adult strength. You also lock the door with the previously unnoticed lock on the handle. 

Now that you're mildly secure, you grab the blanket back up and begin tearing it into strips once more. You imagine the sound is loud enough to hear in the hall, especially with the frantic energy you're putting into it, but you don't care. Each new piece you tear is immediately tied to the previous one. You hear the knob jiggle. Oh dear God, he's here. You keep tying, glancing around and spotting a few more blankets stashed under the bed. The door shudders with a bang. You grab the blankets up, deciding to forgo the tearing, and start tying the corners to make a chain. The wood on the door splinters, and you glance un to see a small spot caving inwards. Another thump on the door makes it shudder, and the dim light catches briefly on a metal tip as it retreats. Your heart starts racing wildly. Oh fucking God help you please. You start praying to your creator for the door to hold, praying for some miracle to happen so you can get out safely. You decide that the blanket rope is long enough and the torn strips side will be the bottom because it's weaker. You hear wood splinters flinging across the room as you begin tying the blanket corner to the bed leg, which conveniently happens to be next to the window. 

As you’re tying the blanket to the bed, you try to think about what you're going to do. You can run back to Toriel's and go through the basement. It leads to Snowdin, if your not-memory serves you correctly. You remember it's cold there, so you think of grabbing one of the blankets around the room. The door shudders more violently, and a particularly large amount of splinters shower the room. You flinch when a few hit your back, but you're almost done. The doorknob rattles, and then the lock clicks. You freeze for a second before looking back. You see Frisk trying to slam the door open. Your nerves are frazzled, spurring you to accept you shitty knotting job. 

You grab a warm blanket off the floor and quickly tie it around your neck while you throw the blanket rope out the window, keeping hold of the end. You burrow your fingers into the blanket hanging off the ledge, and with a quick rush of adrenaline, you swing your legs over the edge and drop to the mercy of the blanket. Your feet and thighs find purchase after a panicked moment of flailing as your eyes spot Frisk's brown mop of hair at the cracked open doorway. The moment your eyes connect, you decide to slide down the blanket rope. You hold steadfast to the bottom of the rope in case you fall, and it's a good thing you do. 

Halfway down, there's the sound of ripping. A split second has you thinking Frisk has begun cutting the rope. You look up, and that's all it takes for your concentration to slip, along with your blanket covered feet. Your hands slip with the sudden added weight, and then you're falling, clutching the end of the blanket rope as a lifeline. 

Your momentum halts briefly with a jarring motion that has you believing your arm just got ripped from it's socket. Then you're falling for a second more. The second drop only lasts long enough for you to believe you're about to die, but then you feel the coarse ground beneath your skin as your body crumples weakly in shock.

You lay on the chilled stone floor, trying to make sense of your scrambled thoughts. There's a ringing in your head that starts to fade, and with that you become aware of someone chuckling. It's a high pitched voice, and it grounds your awareness of the situation.

“Golly, you're sooooo stupid!” the voice says in a mock sing song giddiness. It doesn't take a genius to know that it's Flowey.

You grit your teeth against the pain and force yourself to your feet. Despite his intentions, Flowey unknowingly helped you just now, and you feel spiteful satisfaction at the thought. You don't care to know where he is, and you spent zero time trying to pinpoint him. Instead, you start running back the way you came, suddenly grateful for your bloody footprints. You block out most of the throbbing in your body, but each step jars your shoulder, pulling tears from your eyes. You glance down to see that your blanket covered feet only occasionally make small bloody marks on the ground. You hope the blood flow stifles enough that your steps become invisible.

You run as fast as your body allows you to, pushing through the cloud of pain and fear threatening to engulf your mind. Each turn you take is a stumble caused by the blankets covering your feet, and you bitterly wonder how fast the fabric is going to wear out. You then wish that you knew a shortcut through the ruins so you wouldn't have to expend energy taking this granular way back to the beginning. Each turn places strain on your tired muscles, and every extra stretch of road not in the right direction allows moments for your mind to focus on the pain. A few times, you chance skipping a bloody path for another one in your sights. Thank God you have a good sense of direction, or you'd have forgotten which direction was the right way.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you spot the ledge down a straight path covered in your drying bloody footprints. You feel a swell of relief and run as fast as you can despite the exhaustion threatening to trip your legs. You reach the wall, and you would have kissed it if not for the harrowing situation you're in. The stairs are beckoning you to them, and you heed their call without a second thought. 

Something snares your foot as you try to pull it forward. Something that you're sure wasn't there before. You hit the ground hard, and your jaw snaps shut when your chin smacks the rock. The first step is within arm's reach, and you grasp it as you push yourself forward, ignoring the newer pains. Something wraps around your ankle, the one that was tripped. You realize the culprit of your fall is moving.

You flip your shit.

Your free foot starts kicking and scraping against the assailant as you keep pulling yourself up the stairs. A few steps up, you turn around to grab at the snare and find that the perpetrator is a thorny vine. Recognition slams into you and you start clawing and kicking frantically at the vine. Finally it let's go with a hiss of pain nearby, and you waste no time in scrambling up the stairs.

When you reach the top and vault over the ledge, your weakened legs nearly give out under you. A wheeze laced with fear leaves your clenched teeth as you hold the ledge for support. With the moment of reprieve, you push your legs to keep moving once more. Tears start to streak down your face as your overexerted body attempts to weigh you down into unconsciousness, but you resist. You're gasping with something more than exhaustion. Your throat feels like it's closing up, but you keep running. Your clumsy limbs flop almost listlessly as you reach Toriel's doorway. You strangle a rising sob and wrench the door open. The stairs are right there, and you can see the faint light of the flashlight at the bottom. You stumble over to the steps, thinking belatedly that you should've locked the front door. 

Your first step down the steps fails miserably and ends with you crumpled at the bottom and tangled in you blanket cape. You're gasping for breath, but it's just not enough. Shaky hands push your body into a more comfortable position. As your eyes clear, you register the beam of the flashlight, so you move to grab it. Your depth perception seems off, because you miss the plastic cylinder twice before it's cold surface greets your sweaty fingers. With a wheeze and a huff, you push yourself onto shaky feet. The light cascades along the stony hallway before you, but the edges all seem blurry. You gather the last of your resolve and begin walking forward, fighting against the sweet song of sleep. Your steps echo softly down the path, but you can barely hear it past the ringing in your ears. 

You try to keep your thoughts straight, try to remember the reason why you're so out of it. You remember Frisk… You remember a distance memory of Frisk's seemingly happy exterior. The innocent child, so happily making friends with you and eating butterscotch cinnamon pie with you and Toriel. Then Toriel would read to you both… Toriel and her obsession with snails… Toriel and her… Toriel… Toriel. Oh God, Toriel. Toriel is dead. Toriel is fucking dead. She's… she's down this corridor. Fuck, and Frisk is on your trail, isn't he? He's coming for you. He's going to get you. You have to wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!

A surge of energy, the last bit you have, lights in your eyes and sets your body on fire. You push off the wall you'd been leaning on and start moving forward with sheer will. Your pace quickens in a slow crescendo, your feet pounding harder and faster against the stone. You're panting, focused solely on moving forward. You have to move forward. Can't stop, not now, when you're so close… So close to safety… You turn the last corner before the long stretch of the corridor towards…

You slow when you see the pile of dust a few yards away. Oh, poor Toriel… You want to grieve for her, God do you want to grieve, but you can't. She wanted you to run, to survive. Yes, she said to run. Must run, must go, keep moving. So you push yourself forward towards the towering doorway, hoping to avoid stepping in Toriel's dust. In a split second of thoughtfulness, you scoop some of Toriel's dust up and place it in your pocket for later. You want to honor her when you get the chance. If you have a chance. This crosses your mind when the ruin doors take their sweet ass time opening, despite your strained muscles and entire weight pushing into it. Finally, a crack opens enough that you can slip through rather uncomfortably, and you have to turn your head to fit. You find a creepily familiar scene before you, and you're not even sure if it's because it exists at the beginning of the ruins, or if it's because you've been here before… 

You run in an arch passed the spotlight on the patch of grass, wanting to avoid a repeat from the stairs. When you reach the other side of the room, your light reveals another heavy ass door in your way, but you're not too surprised. You don't even humor the thought of familiarity, and that's mainly because you can hear a distant rhythmic sound echoing from behind you. Panic sets in, and with all the strength you have left, you push at the ruin doors. It feels like an eternity has passed with the echoing sound counting time, but you finally get the second door open enough. You roughly squeeze through the small gap and decide to push the door a little bit closed, enough that a child can't get through easily. With that done, you step back into the snow and stare for a moment. 

An overwhelming exhaustion weighs upon you and threatens to collapse your body, but you resist. You turn around and step forward, but the world keeps spinning from the momentum, and you stumble forward. You barely catch yourself as you drop to your hands and knees. The chilly snow feels nice on your aches and pains, beckoning you to lay down and sleep right there. However, the grating of stone echoes softly from behind the cracked ruin doors. You feel like throwing up, because there's no escape from death. You push yourself up, noting the tears falling down your face feel hot against the chill of the air. You take in a deep shuddering breath despite the want to start hyperventilating. You start to move forward, keeping your breathing deep and even like you were taught. 

As your eyes lower to the blindingly white ground, you spot your blood soaked blanket covered feet. You realize you can't really feel the cold on them, bringing you to wonder if it's because they're covered, the skin is too shredded, or something else you can’t think of. Your brain is so foggy with everything that's happened that you don't care to spend a moment wondering where you're going. You just walk, pulling the blanket cape together in front of you. You want to sleep, but at the same time you're terrified of falling asleep. A feral need to stay alive is the only thing keeping you moving at this point. You don't even register what your eyes are seeing, so you trip over a branch and flomp into the snow. You get back up mindlessly and keep walking. You don't even register what your ears are hearing, so you have no visible reaction to the loud snap-crunch of the branch you left behind. Your head feels fuzzy, but it's not worth the energy to think about it. You don't even register the feeling of wood beneath your feet, or the sound it makes as you walk along. You completely ignore all of it, even the faint sense of energy coming from behind you.

You do, however, register the feeling of a hand drop on your shoulder. A scream fills your ears, and suddenly you're in the moment of death, a knife embedded in between your ribs. Your heart clenches painfully as you register this feeling. You most definitely cannot ignore the fire that explodes inside your body. You're wheezing and clawing at the space where the knife would have stabbed through, and for a moment you can feel the soaked fabric that is definitely covered with your insides. He's going to keep stabbing you even after your guts are laid for everyone to see. He's going to paint the underground with your blood. He wants to see you suffer, even after death.

You find yourself clawing at a clean shirt as your eyesight comes into sharp focus. Your heavy breathing is the first thing you can hear, but it's overtaken by a smooth low voice with a sharp undertone. You're more focused on the confusing lack of blood on your shirt. Surely the knife would have traveled through. But maybe… yes, the toy knife is much shorter, that must be it. But where is the pain in your back? You can only feel soreness, but nothing as horrific as the feeling of a knife wound. No, there's nothing there. In confusion, your head lifts a little to find your surroundings. You're lying on your side drenched in snow, and your eyes lazily gaze around in shock. When something fuzzy and pink obstructs the regular scenic trees and snow, your brown furrows in confusion. What the hell kind of fuzzy and pink thing would be out here in the cold, desolate, and lonely-

You eyes had been moving upward to see the white poles stuck into the fuzzy things, grazing across the black flags attached to them with the blue flag just above that. However, your mind pauses in confusion when your eyes reach the white dome with two black holes, each with a little white light near the bottom edge. In between the bottoms of the holes is a black triangle. A second passes, and then you notice the sideways crescent shape just below that with vertical spaced grooves inside the crescent indent.

Your mind is so slowly chugging along the track of familiarity as your eyes wander back to the fuzzy pink things. Your mind gives way to your inquiry and supplies the title “slippers” for the pink fuzz. You find the white poles, and again your mind supplies the words “legs,” and then corrects to “bones,” but that's kind of confusing. You see the black flags and quickly deduce that they're actually shorts, and they have a white stripe down the front of each pant leg. The blue flag becomes a shirt, and then it's a jacket. Finally, your eyes see the dome with the weird features, and that's a head. No wait… it's not a head. Your memory conjures the word skull, and then you have a name on the tip of your tongue.

“S…” you try to speak.

He says something, probably something “humerus,” but your brain is so foggy that it sounds like a bunch incoherent noise to you.

“S… s…” you try again.

His face shifts in the smallest way that reminds you of someone trying not to frown. He says something more, and you strain to make sense of it. The sounds waste no time in jumbling themselves in your short-term memory.

“Sss… ah…”

He seems to jerk softly and speak, but the small crinkle of the edges of his eye sockets tells you he said something funny. It's not funny, because this isn't funny.

“Ssss… sssahhh…” you're wheezing.

He says something else, but you don't catch his expression shift. No, instead, your eyes are caught by something else. Something in the distance. Something that glinted so suddenly, you might have brushed it off as your exhaustion. You don't, because the image spurs a memory of a knife embedded in a splintering door. You squint through the fog in your eyesight. You have to be sure. You have to see his form. You need to know.

“Hhhhh…” a plea for help fails miserably. You want Sans to look, to turn around and prove to you that you're not living a nightmare. You want so badly to be wrong. Never in your life have you wished for yourself to be so, so wrong.

But you're right, and you can see him clear as day. Your eyes are suddenly so clear and sharp that you have to shut them from the headache that's overpowering your mind.

Something prods your shoulder, so you crack your eyes open and see Sans crouched beside you as your head lays in the snow. You didn't even feel the snow hit your head, but it doesn't matter, because Sans is paying more attention. He must have noticed something off about your manner, or maybe he noticed the subtle change in demeanor. You wheeze again, wanting so badly to express the screaming thoughts trying to break through your brain fog. You imagine his want to hear your seemingly urgent words rivals the need you feel to express them. You try so hard to speak, but it's all so scratchy and weak that you feel it's useless.

Sans frowns with his bone brow. He actually frowns. It's a moment filled with shock on your behalf, but you pull your mind back to the present. He's speaking, so you strain to hear him. It's so jumbled and distorted when it reaches your ears that you almost give up, but then “...blink…” comes through. 

Oh… Your eyes. They're so sluggish, but they're the only thing that can move at this point. He wants you to blink, but you're afraid your eyes won't open if you do. What can you do to communicate that Frisk is right there so he can- WAIT. FRISK. IS RIGHT. FUCKING. THERE. Your eyes bulge from their sockets. He raises the knife, creepy smile and red eyes gleaming with excitement just like the knife that starts to arch downward and you can't breathe oh God he's gonna-! 

Sans is gone. Sans is gone, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Sans is… is Sans gone? Your eyes flick to the ground where his feet were moments before. All that's left is a powdery white pile beside an indent in the snow where his feet kicked it up a little. You take a moment to register that it's all the same color, and a sigh of relief and exhaustion releases from your lungs when you realize it is indeed all white. 

A brown shoe moves into view just as your eyes start to close in finality. You're so tired… so ready to let go… so willing to accept the sweet embrace of-

Pain. Pain is not sweet. Pain is coming from your left arm, sharp and searing. You can't get a break. Your eyes flutter uselessly as you spot your arm lifted into the air, a red trail running down towards you. Death. Death has a bittersweet embrace, and it's got a hold of your arm. Your eyes stare upward at the dark mountain ceiling with the promise of death dulling the spark of life. They say death is an eternal sleep, but you probably won't be dead forever. Oh no, you have to wake up again when it's all over. Frisk controls your death. He is death, and death is carving something into your arm. You can feel it numbingly as you reach the edge of consciousness. Oh yes, death is just another experience for you. You probably won't even remember that this really happened. You'll probably think this was a dream too. How cruel, to think this eternal limbo has you spending your waking moments believing this is but another dream. Yes, another dream of what you believe is the future. You won't even realize… you're… a… p a w n . . .

~~~

Your head is buzzing with pent up energy, and the first thought you have is panicked and filled with the need to scream, “BEHIND YOU!!!” The screech quickly sends you into a coughing fit. You find yourself sitting up as you try to settle to pain in your throat. Eventually, your throat calms enough that you ease some of the grimace stuck on your face. You keep clearing your throat as you raise your head to inspect where you are. You're in a smallish room sitting on a blue tiled floor. The tiles are a few inches larger than the area of your palm. You pick up your hand and inspect your palm, duly noting the twinge in your shoulder blade as your arm moves. You take a deep a breath filled with exasperation, but you dissolve into painful coughing when it feels like your chest constricts against the expansion of your lungs. You lean heavily against your arm, using the other to cover your mouth. You don't want to spread germs in… wherever you are.

Your eyes flick up as you slowly come down from your coughing fit. Immediately your eyes are drawn to a big arcade looking machine in one of the corners. A table or desk stands next to it, covered in papers that you can barely see from your vantage point on the floor. Curiosity has you moving to get up so you can inspect the strewn out papers. You abort your attempts when your body starts screaming at you for trying to use it. You decide to rest and inspect the strange items from your lazy spot on the floor. Your eyes take in all of the raised buttons and switches you can see on the tilted dash board of the machine shaped like an arcade machine. You wonder what it does. You wonder who made it. You wonder how they made it. You wonder how they got it down here, and then figure they built it down here. You wonder how long it's been here. You wonder where here is. You wonder if you fell asleep in here, or if you were kidnapped. You shiver at the idea of being kidnapped, and then you realize you can't exactly remember how you got here. You wonder how you got here.

You begin trying to remember if you've seen this room before. You don't recall ever seeing this place before waking up, but that could be caused by a lapse in memory. That idea spikes familiarity in you, and you remember thinking how familiar that house was. The house, it was… it was Toriel's house. Toriel had taken you in and treated you like her own child. She was so caring. She made cinnamon butterscotch pie, and you both ate it with… no, there was a third person. His appearance seems so foggy in your memory, and something deep in your gut churns with unease as you try to remember him. He was… he. He's indeed male. His name… escapes you. His appearance… is a brown mop of hair, and… a blue and purple sweater… and his… his face… His face is so blurry. You remember thinking that his expression is unsettlingly neutral, but something about that doesn't feel quite right. No, that thought seems so far away from the present. You remember thinking his face is hideous… Something about it, something more recent. Something changed… He was… smiling. Such a horrific, creepy smile. When you come upon this realization, it's followed by every moment you've seen that face since you woke in front of the bookcase. Then the rest of your waking nightmare comes into focus as well, and you sit there reliving the entire nightmare from the moment Toriel walked into the door with… Frisk. Frisk, the murderer. He killed Toriel. Oh, Toriel… You reach into your pocket and pull some of her dust from your pocket. You look at it with sadness, hoping to find a place where a part of her can rest happily.

You jolt when something suddenly appears in your peripherals. Your head snaps up to see Sans standing there, his eyelights trained down on… oh. Your eyes snap to your hand, wondering how bad it looks, and it looks pretty bad. Your fist is covered in a bit of dust. It feels like time just stopped. An icy feeling gathers like a stone in your gut. Your wide eyes are trained on your fist, caught in a moment filled with the fear of moving. You know it lasts for a shuddering breath, but it feels like the longest moment of your life.

As the moment passes, your hand pockets Toriel's dust while you look back to Sans in fear. You're in a small room trapped with Sans. You know what he's capable of; your not-memory serves you well enough. You know he promised to protect kids… but you're not exactly a kid. You're in a room trapped with Sans, and you're backed into a corner. Your teary eyes are trained on Sans, waiting for his arm to move and end your existence. You’re fucking trapped in here with Sans, and you can't breathe. 

You can't breathe. 

The air is suffocating you. 

You're going to die.

Oh God he's gonna make you suffer. 

Your eyesight blurs from the tears, and then you realize your face is tingling. You're curled up in the corner, whimpering and whining quietly. You want him to make it quick, or maybe not do it at all. You're going to die. You can't breathe right. Your chest feels like it's caving in. You’re trembling uncontrollably. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You can't fucking breathe! Your throat is burning! You're gasping raggedly, but you can't get enough air. You're dying! You're dying, you can't breathe! Oh God, it's gonna- you're gonna- you can't breathe! Your head is clogged with cotton and you can't think straight. What is happening to you?!

The sensation of your chin being pushed upward opens your throat a little more, but it's not enough. You try to focus on the touch on your chin, but it disappears, leaving you alone once more. You want it to come back. Come back. Come back! 

…

And it does. 

You focus on that simple sensation as you try to breathe more steadily. You remember the feeling of a panic attack, but why are you having one now? You can't remember anymore. It's freaking you out, so you forget about it and continue to breathe as best as you can. You keep breathing even though it feels like you aren't breathing enough air. You keep breathing despite the distant urgency to escape. You tell yourself that you're fine and you just need to breathe. All you have to do is breathe. All you have to do… is breathe. Breathe slow into your nose… and back out through your mouth. In… and out. Again and again, until you finally feel your lungs processing the air going through your system, and the tingling on your face begins to recede. 

With your eyes closed, you slowly begin to relax, focusing on the stimuli around you. There's the sound of your breathing evening out, the feel of your shaking and the floor beneath you, the smell of musty air and your gross body odor, and you taste a dry mouth. Your head is lying back against the wall, and you hesitate to open your eyes. You take a moment to gather your resolve, and then you open your eyes.

Slowly, your eyes open to see a dim ceiling, and a gray dome hovering to the side. You feel your face crease in confusion, but then your eyesight clears. The dome is a shadowed skull, and you can see two eye sockets that each hold a pinprick of white light. The little light dots are tiny, and they seem kind of dim despite the black background. The lights flick very subtly around in the sockets, almost as if searching your face for something. The crescent shape right below the sockets brings forth a memory from earlier. This memory runs through your head as you stare at the skull. The pink fuzzy slippers, the shorts, the blue jacket, and… 

Sans. 

It's Sans. Why is Sans hovering over you like that? What's he thinking? You can't really read his expression, and his permanent smile is kind of making chills run up your spine with the situation at hand. His skull looks creepy when it's shadowed like that, turning his black sockets into black holes with a light at the end of the tunnel. You watch as the lights in his sockets flick about in a small area of his sockets, and it's almost calming to watch the strange occurrence. You feel yourself getting tired. You body is relaxing into a catatonic state. His bone brow moves down ever so slightly, catching your eyes so you focus on that instead. Then the ceiling grabs your attention, and then your eyes flick to the side as you curiously wonder where you are. You spot the arcade machine imposter to your right, and then you remember waking up here and being confused. 

Then Sans appeared very suddenly and he… he… he saw the dust. He was going to kill you. He was supposed to kill you. You thought he was going to take you out in this room, where it's just you and him, and no one to see. He could do anything to you, and no one would know. No one would know you even existed. He could kill you and take your soul. He could take it to Asgore, or even for himself. Except… didn't he once say that the surface didn't appeal to him? Yeah, he said it was going to reset no matter what he did. Or something like that. It reminds you of your not-memory/dream. You want to ask him about his crazy talk of timelines. A crazy talk that doesn't sound so crazy anymore.

You frown at him, and he seems hesitant to mention it. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Wh-” you clear your throat, “wha’s time…?” You frown, because you want to ask him what the timelines are about, but it sounds like you just asked for the time of day.

His face doesn't seem to move at first, but then the corner of his mouth twitches and a bone brow furrows ever so slightly. “I dunno kid. Maybe it's time you get a watch.” Somehow, his permanent grin fills with mirth, and you don't like his mocking.

Your frown deepens, and your head subtly shakes in negation to his response. “N… T-... time-… line.” You want to scream in frustration because of this stupid sudden speech impediment. 

Despite your broken English, he seems to understand what you said. His bone brow creases very noticeably, and you feel concern over what that looks means for you. “You uh… read my notes?” Your frown deepens. “Heh, it's rude to go through people's stuff without permission, kid.” Something heavy laces the air between you.

You shake your head again, this time more firm. You can tell your fear shows, because his face has the subtle look of darkness that's not caused by shadows. “Travel-... Traveller.”

That grabs his attention more than anything. “Oh really,” he says, and you can tell he doesn't want to believe his ear holes. “If that's the case, then tell me this. What's the secret password?” 

Password? What password? A password for what? Time travel? Who would need-...? Does he have a time traveling machine? Maybe he has a secret password for time travellers? Or… the secret code! That's right! You remember this! His code is- “I'm-” you cough, “I'm... the legendary… fartmaster.” You start coughing again, because your throat feels so dry and sticky.

When you look at him again, he's got a strange, conflicted face. What's that about? What level of confliction would make such intense emotion appear on his otherwise impassive face? You're a time traveller, right? Maybe he's concerned about what you could do with the power… or what you've already done. You remember the dust, and then panic sets in.

“N-” cough “no! It's not-” cough “me! I'm not-” cough “the one-” cough “that has-” cough “the power-!” cough cough cough, and now it's a coughing fit. You sound like a seal as you cough violently from the extent of dryness in your throat.

A boney hand drops on your shoulder, “I get it,” and the hand squeezes slightly, “but you can't be too careful.”

Your eyes shoot open and you try to get to your feet. Those words spell your death, you know they do. Despite the coughing still rattling your lungs, you stand and look at Sans. You look at him with fear, pleading, and searching for something that grants you mercy. His gaze gives little away, but you see the crease in his bone brow, and you notice the space between you has grown. He's wary of you, and you can understand why, but you don't want this. You need his help. He needs your help… maybe. Nonetheless, you need his trust. You put your hands in front of you in a placating gesture, but you see his left arm flinch, and then you flinch, and then you suddenly weight ten pounds. Your face smacks the floor, and you gasp in shock and horror. “N-no! Wait! Wait! Please! Please! Don't Sans! Pl-please! Please n-no!” You start coughing uncontrollably once again, and the added pressure in your soul makes it worse.

“So you're a time traveller. Did you bring that demon here with you? Did you want to see what the kid would do? Maybe you wanted him to do the dirty work. Keep your hands clean from the dust.” More pressure is added. “But your hands seem plenty dirty. Couldn't stand on the sidelines? Had to feel what it's like, right? What are you even trying to accomplish? What's your reason for destroying the lives of monsters?” He chuckles once. “Pretty ironic, us being called monsters, when y o u ‘ r e t h e o n e t h a t d e s e r v e s t h e t i t l e.”

“Sa-” your words become a wheeze when your back is slammed against the wall.

“I should take you out right now. See if that fixes our problem.” Your eyes widen in fear, because you don't want to know what happens if you're not here. You haven't gotten the chance to attempt to stop Frisk. “But, tibia honest, I'm kind'a curious to hear your side of the story.” He looks at you with a strange expression. “I don't think I've seen you before in a timeline.” Your eyes widen so big that you're surprised they didn't fall out. “Heh, sound familiar huh? Bet ya thought it was a dream at first.” You nod your head, and his bone brow furrows with a dark look. “How long have you been helping Frisk?”  
Your face reflects the horror you feel. He thinks you're helping Frisk? There's no fucking way you'd help that demon child. They're sickening to even look at after what they've done. In fact, they're probably doing it right now. Your eyes focus on Sans again as the idea of stopping him returns to your mind. You feel determined. 

“Struck a nerve? Not that I'd know what that feels like, seeing as I'm a skeleton an’ all.” One of your brows raise. “What, don't have the stomach for my jokes? That's okay, neither do I.” Is he… is he trying to air out the tension between you? “Heck, I don't know if I have the guts to keep going.” You feel your mouth twitch at that one. “Okay, so that might have been a fibula. I'll patella you what though, jokes run bone deep with me.” Oh God, it's so perfect. You snerk at that, and then you're suddenly falling to the floor as the force holding you up suddenly disappears. You faceplant the floor once again. “Ooh, that's gonna hurt to-marrow.” It takes you a second to hear that one, but you start chuckling under your breath when it hits you. Your laughter starts crescendoing until you're in hysterics, and then a sob breaks the dam. 

Your hysteric laughter turns into hysteric crying. You think it's because of how simple this moment is in comparison to what's been going on outside the room you're both in. Maybe it's the fact that you're both just sitting here, enjoying some jokes, while the underground crumbles around you. Or how about the fact that you've barely avoided death for an excruciatingly long period of time up to this moment. Whatever the case, it's gotten to you. This easy moment was all it took for the last twenty-four or so hours to catch up to you, and it's getting to you. 

You’ve curled up in a ball on the floor, your body trembling with an ache deep in your chest. All of the emotions that had been set aside since you saw Frisk in Toriel's doorway come crashing down on you. It's so intense that you want to throw it all up. It's too much for you. It keeps rising and rising. The disgust and horror you feel keeps building with each recent memory that pops in your head. You can't help it; you have to dispel the toxicity somehow.

You gag on a sob, choke, and then, with a gasp, it's all on the floor. You start gasping for air as you try to calm yourself down, not wanting to experience that sensation again. You notice the feel of a hand on your back, and the touch helps ground you back into reality. You swallow and gasp a few more times

“I didn't think you wouldn't have the stomach for my jokes. Guess that's on me.” Something in his voice sounds less tense, and you wonder if he could see the truth in your eyes or mannerisms.

You chuckle at that as your crying finally settles down. “The dust…” you begin hesitantly, “it's Toriel's.” He's silent. “Wanted to give a part of a better resting place.”

He makes a noise of affirmation, and they the topic is dropped in favor of him asking you questions and gauging your reactions. Eventually it peeters out, and once you two pass this sort of interrogation process, he seems to feel more at ease around you. With some prodding on your side, he starts talking about ways he's tried to stop the anomaly. You tell him all that you can remember from past timelines involving this broad topic, and then you propose to work together to stop the demon child. 

You two have formed an unlikely team. Human and monster working together to stop the madness. You feel like the future holds new hope with your presence, and you think that Sans might just feel the same way.

You really hope so.


	7. Bittybones - A Rough Start To An Edgy Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After acquiring an Edge Bitty, our main character finds out what she's in for when she comes home to a big mess. This really puts her down and out, and to make matters worse, that Sans Bitty doesn't seem to feel much sympathy. How far will they push each other before one of them breaks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter....like a year later lol! Life has been intense, so no chapters. I actually wrote this last year and just now added the last paragraph. Good times all around huh? I figured since the tag is on the story, I might as well add it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

I walk into the house, and everything is trashed. I stand at the doorway in shock, and my eyes scan the room to find most of the visible items broken. Family heirlooms, old furniture, memorabilia, figurines, and even some electronics. As the weight of the situation suddenly crashes down on me, my legs give out and I barely manage to grab the doorway to keep from busting my knees as I sink to the hardwood floor. A sob escapes me, and I feel my face contort with the grief that overwhelms my existence. I slump forward with my face in my hands, and I begin to cry my heart out.

It hurts. It hurts so much. I know exactly who did this, and the fact hurts more than if it were a break in. I've been betrayed. I trusted him to respect my space, and he trampled all over it. Through the tears, I wonder if he's even here anymore. My heart tears at the idea that he doesn't even care about me enough to stay and explain himself. He probably left this mess for me to clean up in contempt for my existence, hoping the act would hurt as much as shoving glass into my heart, and it does.

A crash echoes through the house, and it startles me into silence. I glance up to see if anyone actually broke in, but instead I see two red dots at the end of the hall. A moment passes in which I struggle to make sense of it, but then I know. I do my best to hold my crying in as I manage to get to my feet, staring down those lights in case they move. I step back out of the house and shut the door with shaking hands, never taking my eyes off of his until the door is in the way.

Once the door is shut, I take a moment to stare at it as I think on what to do next. I decide to lock the door so no one can get in, and feeling as though I can't face the mess inside, I turn and walk back to my car in stifled silence. With a click of a button, the back lifts open and I crawl inside and shut it. The second it clicks shut, I let out all of my emotions with a wail and streaming tears, curling up on my side as the lights in the car dim to nothing.

Despite my numerous attempts to calm down, my crying fit goes on for a while as every thought and painful emotion washes over me. I can't stop thinking about all of the things I've lost. Things my mom and relatives entrusted to me, all the memories and positive feelings smashed into pieces, never having another chance to trigger a happy moment in my day. Every item he destroyed is a moment lost in my memory. I scream and cry my frustrations out in the seclusion of my car, wishing for something to quell the compressing pain in my very soul for every lost link to my family. 

Eventually, I exhaust myself emotionally and find myself no more than a weak whimpering mess as the tears still fall. I'm staring into space, clutching a lone rag I found in my car as if it were a lifeline. The empty hole in my heart feels deeper with this new emotional blow, making it hard to even think of a positive reason to keep going. I feel like my existence is best left to rot away in the back of this car. A pitiful way to go for a pitiful human.

“It's just a bunch of stuff, stupid cry-baby…”

The sound of his voice fills the otherwise silent car, making me flinch and seek comfort in a tighter ball of myself. I will him to go away, praying that my silence will deter his presence and interest in seeing the results of his work. 

“Ya deaf now? Or maybe yer so weak ya can't even stand up to someone as small as me.”

God, he's not leaving. I can't handle this in the middle of a break down. I can't face him, because I don't know what I might end up doing.

“Peh, figures. Yer so weak, it's a wonder ya lasted this long. Yer stupid sobbing prob’ly gots most people feelin’ sorry for ya. Too bad ya picked up the one bitty that doesn't give a shit. Best ya take me ba-”

“Shut UP! JUST SHUT-UP!” I'm suddenly on my hands and knees with renewed tears flowing. “Shut the FUCK UP YOU FUCKIN’ SHIT! FUCK! JUST SHUT UP AN’ LEAVE ME THA FUCK ALONE TO CRY GOD DAMNIT!” I hold my fists to my heat so they don't go anywhere else. “YOU STUPID ASSHOLE! GOD DAMN YOU AND YOUR FUCKIN’ BULLSHIT! JUST LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE, JUST FUCKIN’ LEAVE!” A wail of frustration rips from my throat as I drop my forehead to the floor of the car. “I CAN'T FUCKING HANDLE THIS SHIT ANYMORE! WHY THA FUCK DIDJA KILL MY SHIT?! MY FUCKING HOUSE?! WHY’D’JA FUCKING DESTROY MY FAMILY'S STUFF?! I TRUSTED YOU! Why?! Why’d ya- *hic* oh God it's gone…!” Another wave of grief restarts the cycle anew. “I don't understand…! Why'd you do it…?! What'd I do?! I don't fuckin'...!” My words dissolve into blubbering nonsense and wails of despair. I cover my gross face with my hands and hold myself in a shuddering tight ball. I scream and cry at the floor of the car for what seems like ten minutes.

Something small touches the top of my head, and I flinch away with a gasp that catches in my throat. I wait in pensive silence aside from the sniffling and hiccups that manage to escape, wondering if he'll do it again and fearing what it might mean. The touch returns, and this time I manage to hold still, tense with nerves. The touch, which I assume is his hand, begins to pet the small area of my hair. For a moment, I stay frozen with confusion, unsure what he's trying to accomplish. Then, he speaks.

“...'m… sorry.” It sounds awkward and hesitant, but it's all I need to begin sobbing again, this time with a sense of bittersweetness.

We sit there for what seems like an eternity as the small space is filled with the sounds of my sobbing. My body shakes violently with the overwhelming emotions that continuously cascade upon my soul. It feels like I'm being torn apart and sewn together all at once. The touch of my companion grounds me from spiraling even deeper into the abyss of depression. 

Eventually, my noisy despair quiets to nothing, and I barely manage to stay awake long enough to lay on my side before I succumb to exhaustion. As I fall asleep, I feel a small presence tuck itself against my forehead. I dream of making amends with old friends.

 

~~~

 

It's been three days since the house was trashed. I spent the first night in the car, and I woke up the next morning with a stuffy face and a sore body. It was clear that the car did not treat me kindly. Edgy was asleep on my arms next to my face, and I couldn't help but quietly coo at how relaxed and small he was.

Edgy awoke as I carried him back to the house. He didn't say much to me, and I didn't prompt much from him. Most of our conversations were quick inquiries on what he wanted. I got him some mustard from the fridge and left him in the dining room with assurance that everything will be okay, but there wasn't much behind the words. Every moment I walked through the house was spent refusing to process what my eyes were seeing. Once Edgy had something to eat, I went straight to bed that day.

I awoke the next day feeling as depressed as I did the previous day. I had checked the time and saw that it was four pm. I had the urge to use the restroom, so I was forced to leave my sanctuary. Before leaving my room, I had to put some shoes on so I wouldn't step on glass. I had braced myself before opening the door, and when I did, I scurried down the hall and into the bathroom. Once my business was done, I left the restroom and went into the kitchen. I figured Edgy might be hungry, so I pulled out the mustard and, after some realizations about proper meals, some leftover chicken as well. I dished out what I thought would be a good portion and left it in the dining room. As I put the stuff back in the fridge, I ate a few pieces of chicken for myself and downed a glass of water. Once all that was done, I shuffled back to bed and read stories on my phone until I drifted to sleep. 

I regained consciousness this morning with a pressure in my forehead. I rub the spot and confirm it's swollen before brushing it off and getting up to go to the bathroom once again. I pull on my shoes after nearly stepping on some glass, and then I shuffle out of my room and repeat yesterday's actions. Once Edgy is fed and his dishes are in the sink, I make my way back to my room and curl into my bed once more, but sleep doesn't come as easily this time.

As I lay in bed now, I think about the days leading up to the trashing of my house. My therapist recommended I get an emotional support animal, or ESA. Either that or a bitty, seeing that their needs are easily understood and are typically less messy, keyword being “typically.” The idea really stuck with me, but the house I rent isn't animal friendly. I didn't want to cause a problem with animal hair or fleas, so I pondered getting a bitty since they don't shed, and they can talk. I had thought long and hard about whether or not a bitty would be right for me, especially since the idea really clashed with my love for cats. In the end, I figured it'd be good to share my space with someone more human that I can converse with. I even got a little excited at the idea of sharing our personal thoughts and feelings, which is a lot harder to do with an animal.

I got the Edgy from the shelter because I figured it'd be a good balance for my personality. I also figured it'd be a helpful thing to do, seeing as Edgies don't get adopted as often, and those that do are typically returned or even abandoned. I even fooled myself into thinking I could help the Edgy feel happier. I should know by now that that train of thought always leads to pain. I'm awful at helping people through emotional stuff, but I'm good at helping them realize things, even though my methods are blunt. It's better that I don't get involved, so no one gets hurt. Not everyone wants to be saved.

I think about my mom, because I miss her a lot. It leads me to think about the last six months since her passing. It's the reason why I've been so empty and sad lately, and the reason I've been in counseling more often than usual. She was the absolute best mom in the world, and I was lucky to have her as my mom. I think about my siblings and the time we've spent grieving together. I think about the falling out between my siblings and I, and how it was most likely caused by grief. I think about how much better life was when I had a mom to care for me and my siblings. I feel lost without her guidance and wisdom. I don't know what to do anymore, or what reason I have to keep living now that I have no one who depends on me.

I stop my thoughts there, remembering the talks I've had with my counselor about meeting new people. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be depended on, but I figure it's something that needs to happen. It's part of the reason I got the bitty. I wonder if he really needs my help at all. He seems pretty self sufficient when I'm sleeping, if the extra dishes are anything to go by.

“'ey,” something taps my head, and I open my eyes to see Edgy in my face. My face scrunches in confusion. “You gonna lie in bed fer the rest a yer life or somethin’?” My eyelids droop with a tiredness that sleep can't fix. “Worse than a damn Sleeper, I swear…” I feel a wetness on my cheeks, and I realize I've been crying. I sigh, and turn to lay on my back. “You gonna just ignore all the shit in yer house?” I close my eyes, and realize that that's exactly what I'm going to do. At least, for the time being until I gather enough energy to face it. I turn on my other side, back facing Edgy. Something hits my back. “Are ya fuckin’ kidding me?!” He keeps hitting my back. “Ya really gonna sit there an’ waste away while I trash more of your shit?!” I try to block him out, because I can't handle emotional shit right now. “Tha’s not fuckin’ fair! Stupid bitch! Why don’cha go get a stupid Blueberry instead?! Then ya can both be shitheads together! I’m gonna- mph!” 

I didn't even realize I'd grabbed him in a hug until his muffled angry screaming met my ears. I hold him tight, wanting to show a comfort that I myself am seeking for in this world. I'm not too good at expressing it in words, so I hope my actions will speak for me. All too soon, a sharp pain on my arm has me yelping and drawing back. I look at my arm to see the small bleeding bite mark, and then at Edgy who seems to be fuming with his brightly glowing eyelights. The pain triggers more tears to fall, and then I start to sob softly. I feel ashamed that my emotional barrier is so weak, so I duck my head and cover my face from Edgy’s sight.

At first, Edgy says nothing, and eventually I realize I've been left to cry alone which makes me cry even harder. However, a soft touch to my arm makes my thoughts pause. I peer through my fingers as I keep sobbing and find that Edgy has a somewhat regretful look with a weak attempted irritated cover up. Relief washes over me at seeing this, and I start crying harder as I pull him in for a cuddle session. 

Edgy jumps at the sudden movement and half heartedly shoves at my face as he yells, “'ey, what th’ hell, ya supposed tah stop cryin’, not get worse!” Despite his words, he settles down and allows me to cuddle him as I cry my eyes out over all the bottled up emotions from the past year. In this moment, I think we both realize how we can help each other.

**Author's Note:**

> If my works inspire you in some way, then let me know so I can be all giddy about it! :D
> 
> If you liked or hated what was written, let me know down below! I'd love to hear what you have to say! It can definitely be helpful to me.
> 
> Have a good day!


End file.
